Black Sheep, White Wolf
by SloanTheIrishSon
Summary: AU. "I am Man. Man is two-legged Wolf. The two times Man is most human is when he's fucking or fighting. Who are you to deny me my natural lust for steel and blood?"
1. Chapter 1: When One Dies

Disclaimer: I don't own Jon or any other characters or the world, though the story line is mine as far as I know and/or can remember. If I am mistaken, don't sue me, be a man and message me, provide evidence, and we'll handle it like gentleman. Thank you. And I don't own the italicized passage of George R.R, Martin's. And for future references, Dawn and Longclaw will be longswords, not a greatsword and a bastard sword. For an idea of how they look, see the Big Bad Wolf sword from Zombie Tools, but with a dark gray Valyrian steel blade for Longclaw with a wolf head pommel, as well as a star pommel on Dawn with it's milkglass blade. Also, Ice is still a greatsword, but it's more a normal sized greatsword rather than a fuckin' giant one.

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 1: When One Dies, Another Is Born**

In the Red Mountains of Northern Dorne, a lonely tower stands, almost blending in with the gray sky, so deep and brewing that a thoughtful glance at the gray plain above the heads of men could exert a sense of foreboding depression. This, is the Tower of Joy. The screams of a woman echo from the top of it like a banshee, further instilling a present sense of fear felt by the seven men who rode up, clad in riding leathers with minimal armor, swords still sheathed and helms at sides. These men were Ned Stark, Howland Reed, Lord William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull,and Ser Mark Ryswell. They stopped just shy of three men in beautiful, blazing white armor and cloaks, shining like lights against the dark setting, these men being Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell, and Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard. The seven men, new to this scene, dismounted and ventured closer to the three knights of the Kingsguard, and stopped within ten feet.

 _"_ _I looked for you on the Trident," Ned said to them._ _"_ _We were not there," Ser Gerold answered._ _"_ _Woe to the Usurper if we had been," said Ser Oswell._ _"_ _When_ _King's Landing_ _fell,_ _Ser Jaime_ _slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were."_ _"_ _Far away," Ser Gerold said, "or Aerys would yet sit the_ _Iron Throne_ _, and our false brother would burn in seven hells."_ _"_ _I came down on_ _Storm's End_ _to lift the siege," Ned told them, "and the Lords_ _Tyrell_ _and_ _Redwyne_ _dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."_ _"_ _Our knees do not bend easily," said Ser Arthur Dayne._ _"_ _Ser_ _Willem Darry_ _is fled to_ _Dragonstone_ _, with your_ _queen_ _and_ _Prince Viserys_ _. I thought you might have sailed with him."_ _"_ _Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell._ _"_ _But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."_ _"_ _Then or now," said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm._ _"_ _We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold._ _Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three._ _"_ _And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the_ _Sword of the Morning_ _. He unsheathed_ _Dawn_ _and the blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light._ _"_ _No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends."_

The seven men charged the three opposite them, and the fight for life began. William Dustin, though a good man, and brave, was not the brightest and made the mistake of lunging for the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, only to find nothing with his sword, instead finding the infamous Dawn on himself, from neck to naval, slicing him wide open as shot past where Ser Dayne crouched. His decimated body hit the ground with a thud, and his life force spilled out onto the dirt as he slipped into a sweet silence, comfortable beyond belief, unlike any a man had ever experienced before, save for similar situations.

Howland Reed and Ned Stark engaged Ser Gerold Hightower as Glover and Wull fought Oswell, cutting him down though not before Oswell skewered Glover through a lung, and Martyn Cassel and Ser Mark Ryswell cautiously circled Ser Arthur before Wull joined them. Ned and Howland took turns hacking and slashing at the Lord Commander Hightower, barely scraping him, growing ever more frustrated. But then, Ser Gerold landed a well calculated blow across Howland Reed's neck, seemingly cutting his throat ear to ear, Reed hitting the ground. A cold rage overtook Ned Stark at the expected loss of his friend, and he fought with renewed vigor, before finally laying Ice, the ancestral sword of the Starks, into Gerold's knee, following up with a thrust through the Lord Commander's heart. Ned held the old knight as he watched the light drain from his eyes, a fabled knight, dead by his blade, as the battle raged on.

Wull, Cassel, and Ryswell attacked Ser Arthur simultaneously, their total three against Ser Arthur's two, Dawn and an unnamed blade of regular, castle-forged steel. Arthur blocked Wull and Cassel, sidestepping Glover's thrust and letting the momentum of his movement carry his body out of the line of travel of Cassel, followed closely by Dawn pulling away from Cassel's sword and sliding across Glover's jugular in a quick, and deadly motion. He then spun and swung at the back of Theo Wull's knee, though Theo had moved his leg out of range. Ser Arthur eyed and squared up with Wull and Cassel as Glover lay on the cold ground, choking on his blood, much of it spilling out onto the ground surrounding him. Dayne charged, spinning Dawn and the adjacent blade in his hands, hitting Cassel's blade from above, followed by a side swipe at Wull's sword, then a jab at Wull's eye, scraping Theo on the cheek, spinning and swinging at Martyn, ringing Dawn against Martyn's sword, though Cassel was quick enough to move it mostly out of harm way, lest it be shattered by the pure strength and precision of Dayne and his Valyrian steel blade. Ser Arthur brought it around in a full circle, going downward and then upward in an arc, forcefully bypassing Wull's sword as he spun on his feet, digging Dawn into right above the hip of Theo Wull, the dead man. As Theo dropped, Arthur Dayne slid his sword out of the dropping, lifeless body, spinning around to face Martyn Cassel and the newly joined Ned Stark.

The Dayne nodded at the two men, and they nodded back at him. Stark thrust at Dayne with the greatsword Ice as Cassel threw a probing hack at Dayne's shoulder from his left side. Arthur knocked Ice out of it's path with Dawn as he stepped towards Martyn's blade, catching it with the sword not named, and threw a jab at Martyn's unprotected stomach with Dawn. Cassel jumped back just in time to miss the brunt of the strike, though it did cut him a bit above the belly button. Arthur stepped back to dodge the side strike sent by young Lord Stark, throwing his own strike, but with both blades, at Ned's head and neck. Ned ducked under the blades and as Arthur took a step back to avoid whatever strike was coming next from Ned, Martyn Cassel, running, jumped off of Ned's slumped back, thrusting his sword at Ser Arthur's neck with all of his might, only for Dayne to duck his head and point both his blades upward allowing Cassel to land on them, releasing a moan as he slid down the duo of steel, stopping as he came to rest with his chest against Ser Arthur's with his face a few inches from the white knight's as his legs gave out in shock. Still somewhat unable to register the swords in his sternum, sticking out of his back, his sword dropped out of his hand and he attempted to say something, though nothing came out save for a line of blood coming from his throat, and beginning the trail down his chain and neck. He searched The Dayne's eyes for confirmation or comfort, or anything he could find, and found respect and sympathy. Arthur lay Martyn on his back, and put his sword, downwards, back in his right hand, before placing the hand and blade on Martyn's chest, blade resting between the two sticking out of the Northman's rib cage. Arthur grabbed Martyn's left hand and placed it, firmly clasping Cassel's right hand.

"You fought bravely, my friend. And now, you die well," Ser Arthur told Martyn Cassel, before he rose from his position crouching over the man's body, and Dayne stuck his foot on the nearly dead man's shoulder before pulling his blades out of Martyn, killing the warrior almost instantly. Ser Arthur turned around to spot Ned Stark standing a few feet away, watching the scene in sorrow.

"It never... It didn't have to..." Ned began before Ser Arthur interrupted him.

"I vow I shall bring your blade to your successor, if you should do the same for me," Dayne promised to the silent wolf.

"Aye, very well. So be it," Ned agreed, proceeding to place the tip of Ice between the raised Dawn and parallel blade.

"Whoever leaves this place should expect an earful from Ashara," Arthur informed Ned, chuckling at his own joke.

"Aye, I should expect so," Ned Stark said, smiling at the irony of such a statement in such a situation.

"If you get there, give my nephew my regards," Ser Arthur Dayne asked of Ned. Ned nodded, and with that, the clash began. Arthur pulled his blades away, both scraping against Ice, before stepping forward and swinging both down at Ned's head and chest, both being blocked by Ice as Ned stepped inward and kicked Arthur in the chest, sending him back a few steps, only for Arthur to lunge forward with a high jab with Dawn, and his other blade low. Eddard ducked under Dawn and placed his sword in the path of Arthur's non-Valyrian steel one, fearing an uppercut. When Stark looked back up, he was rocked by an armored headbutt to his unarmored head from the helm-protected Ser Arthur. As soon as he fell, hitting his ass, Ned rolled and spun to his left side, barely escaping a flying lunge from Dawn, and swinging Ice at the armpit of Arthur's right shoulder as he rose from the ground, aiming for the most well-known chink in a knight's armor. Arthur rolled his shoulder up just in time to miss losing his arm, but the ancient greatsword scraped him and annoyed him. He took his helm off and threw it to the ground before reintroducing his blades to Ice. The white knight and the Northern Lord danced back and forth for several minutes before Arthur saw an opening to take a chance. Dayne rained Dawn down at Stark's head, and as Stark's sword came up to block it, Arthur leaped into a swing from his other blade at Stark's knees. Stark was quick enough to move his right leg out of the way as he jumped back, but due to Arthur's leap into the strike and Ned's movement being one leg at a time, the blade bit into above Ned's left knee, not deep enough to maim forever, or to lose the leg, but enough that the strength left it and the young Stark lord fell to his knees. Arthur let go of the sword and put all of his strength into bringing Dawn down in a downward backhand motion from it's position above his left shoulder, where it had gone after it had glanced off of Ice. Instead of dying as Ned had expected, a blur of hair and leathers sped between the two of them, gripping Dayne's arm and spinning Arthur around as it did so. Grasping the opportunity, Ned sliced at the back of Arthur's knees, another chink in the armor, and brought the great Sword of the Morning crashing down to his knees. Ned rose onto his right leg, putting all of his weight on it as he put the tip of his blade, pointing downward, at a point below where the neck and back of Ser Arthur as the Dayne knight bowed his head and Howland Reed let go of his arm.

"Remember, Lord Stark. My sword, and my regards," the knight spoke from the spot on his knees where he would die.

Ned put all of his weight into shoving Ice, the ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword of the Starks, the lords and former kings of the North, deep down through the knight's body, piercing all of his organs on the way down. So passed Ser Arthur Dayne, one of the Seven of the Kingsguard, the Sword of the Morning, and one of the greatest knight's to have ever lived.

-Linebreak-

In the lord's, or rather, lady's, room of the great castle Starfall in Dorne, the Lady Ashara Dayne lay in her bed, being attended to by several handmaidens and a maester as she gave birth to her first and only child. She pushed and pushed, and screamed and screamed, until eventually the maester announced to her that he could see the head. She fought harder than she ever had in her life at that moment, for her baby's sake, as well as her own. Soon, she felt something leave her, and she tired and relaxed.

"My lady, it is a beautiful, and healthy baby boy," the maester informed Ashara as he cut the umbilical chord and handed the bay to a handmaiden to be cleaned and dried. After that was done, the handmaiden wrapped the baby in a blanket and handed the bundle to it's mother. Lady Ashara held him firmly, yet so gently, and wanted to cry in that moment as her free hand fingered his black tuft of hair.

"My little boy, my little Star, my little Wolf," and the baby's eyes opened, so round and gray, so intricately detailed. Stark eyes, staring at their mother.


	2. Chapter 2: Baptized In Scorn And Snow

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or AGOT or ASOIAF or the italicized lines in paragraph 10/11 or nothin' yada yada yada. I don't know if I'm gon' get any response for the last chapter 'cuz this is like three hours after I wrote that chapter (and I might write another tonight if I can't sleep) so yeah. Half of me always feels bad, but the other half is cocky is fuck, so Imma assume some were good n some were bad. Thanks either way. This'll be a short chapter, not much to be said for this one. Will write a longer one after it.

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 2: Baptized In Scorn and Snow**

 **-2 Years After the Battle At the Tower of Joy-**

Catelyn Stark didn't simply dislike Jon _Snow,_ the bastard boy. She didn't loathe him. She hated, _no,_ despised Jon Snow. The two year old babe. With his raven black curls and gray Stark eyes. He looked so much like Ned. Her husband. _The father of her child._ Her little Robb, who looked so unlike his father. But, her little Robb was better and she knew it. He was a true Stark, not some some illegitimate whelp, and he was so much healthier too. To be fair, part of that would be because Catelyn had informed the servants that they were to skip out on his meals when his father wasn't around, under threat of being thrown from the ramparts. She normally wouldn't have made such threats against the people who worked her castle, but special circumstances do require special measures, for if the Gods would not take _Snow_ as she had asked, then she would be their instrument and do it for them. And afterwards, she wouldn't let them bury him, no, she would watch as they tossed him in a ditch, and she'd watch as they burnt every single last little black curl to dust! The same curls that belonged to the whore who gave birth to him, whoever she may have been.

These thoughts were interrupted by a bustling in the hallway, with shouting accompanying it. Robb in front of her sat completely undisturbed, playing with his toy knight, but Ned who had entered the room a minute or two prior seemed curious as to what was happening. When he got up to head to the door, Catelyn accompanied him, telling the handmaiden in the corner who had been changing the linens to stay with her son and watch him. She got to the door right when her husband broke standards for a lord, of the North especially, when he went sprinting down the hall and up the stairs before she could even ask what was happening. So, she went back inside the room and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, contemplating and worrying over anything and everything it could be.

Perhaps it's wildlings, savage raiders come to rape, murder, and pillage. Maybe, it was some Northern lord and his party come to visit his liege lord, the raven they sent previously being lost and dying. Maybe, it was a messenger from the king. It could have been anything, and Catelyn did not fancy waiting to hear, so she got up and exited the room into the hall, stopping a servant girl as she passed.

"What is happening here?" Catelyn demanded of the young girl. The maiden turned white and looked to the ground, beginning to mumble and murmur. "What was that?"

"It's the young one, m'lady. The bastard," the girl said, kicking the ground with her foot, still refusing to meet the lady's eyes.

"What about the bastard?" Catelyn asked, hoping to coax some form of a respectable answer out of the girl.

"The maester just rushed him to his room m'lady. He's gotten the pox." The girl stated. Catelyn was absolutely stunned. This was it. This was what she's been praying for. Every night and every morning, every time she laid eyes on the baby, she's asked for this exact thing. Jon Snow was going to die. So many emotions and images filled Catelyn's head. Confusion, curiosity, a pox marked baby face, tear filled gray eyes, a burning, black-haired baby's body. So small, so fragile. "Am I free to leave m'lady? Because I've got..."

"Yes yes go," Catelyn interrupted her. What was the matter with her? This is all she had ever wanted. She wanted Jon Snow dead and gone. And here the opportunity. Jon Snow was stricken with the pox, and was going to die, and she didn't feel happy. She thought that at the very least she would get a smile out of it. The son of her husband and some whore was in the process of being struck down by the gods for having the gall to be born a bastard, he had gotten the pox from who knows where, and was probably laying in a bed, his belabored little breaths echoing out as Ned and Maester Luwin watched on, waiting out in apprehension for his last breath, before that little pale chest would cease to move and cold, lifeless, gray Stark eyes would stare up at nothing, never seeing anything again, until the eyes are closed permanently and the tiny, infantile body is disposed of forever. This what she had been asking for, and she didn't feel happy. She decided to go check on the trio of Luwin, Ned, and Jon. Perhaps she needed to see it herself in order to believe it and enjoy it.

As Catelyn glided down the hallways, she realized that the closer she got to the bastards room, the quieter it got. It was eerily silent, and there wasn't a soul around. The laughter that she had hated so much, the sound of that bastard having fun, was gone, completely, and the hallway wasn't the same without it. In a moment of stupidity, Catelyn thought that perhaps she missed the sound of it, before she reprimanded herself. Of course she didn't like that obnoxious laughter when it came from the bastard. It was impossible for her to feel otherwise. When she reached the room itself, there was nobody around still, save for the woman who serves as wet nurse for Snow. The woman had the nerve to give Catelyn a glare, as if to say she had no place here. Catelyn ignored her and entered the room anyway.

As soon as she entered she saw Ned on his knees next to Snow's bed, with his head in his hands, and Maester Luwin on the other side of the bed looking down at what must have been Snow. As she stepped forward to get a look at the child who she had condemned, Eddard looked up at her and gave her a look similar to the one the woman outside had, only to a much more controlled extent. How awful must she have truly been in order to make her husband, the kind, just, and honorable Eddard Stark, look at her as if she had just spat in his face? Soon after that thought, she noticed the tears in his eyes, and what looked like trails of them on his cheeks, and she realized, that with her actions, her selfish, stupid reasoning and pleas, she had caused so much pain to this man who she had come to love dearly. How sad would her own son be when he learned that his only little friend was gone? _By the gods, she was the worst woman ever. A murderer. She would condemn this innocent child to a horrible death, just because she was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know._ And in that moment, she knew what had to be done. So she left to get what was required.

 **-Linebreak-**

It was night, and Eddard had gone off to the Godswood in order to pray for Jon's life, his salvation. Catelyn snuck into Jon's room and stood in the doorway, just staring at the bed in which the infant lay now. Maester Luwin had said that if Jon had made it through the night, then he'd be safe. But it'd be a long night. So, Catelyn came prepared. With that in mind she moved the only chair in the room next to his bed and got her first look at the sick child. He was so pale and pitiful. His chest moved like a man was pressing down on it and it required all of his effort and will just to move it. His breaths were so ragged, and so little, it brought tears to Catelyn's eyes. She sat down in the chair, next to Jon's little wooden crib bed and proceeded to create her prayer wheel. As she worked, she prayed. _Let the boy live. Let him live, and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him. I'll beg my husband to give him a true name. To call him Stark, and be done with it. To make him one of us._ And so she worked, and she prayed.

 **-Linebreak-**

Cold, Northern morning light shone through the only window and the room, and Catelyn Stark awoke with a startle when she a ray of warmth from it actually hit her. She sat up straight and stretched her back and neck, stiff and uncomfortable from the night sleeping in a chair next to the bed, watching little Jon. _Jon!_ She thought and scrambled up to look over the edge of the crib, stopping just short of being able to actually see him. What if he had died? What if she had killed this beautiful, innocent baby? Then, she inched her way forward, and looked in, to find two wide, moving, gray Stark eyes. And when they found her, the smile a little below those eyes opened wide, along with his hands as they reached for Catelyn. She stood there, with her hand over her mouth, and a sob of relief escaped her throat as tears of joy came to her eyes. She grabbed Jon up out of his crib, holding him close, hugging him as if it was the only thing that mattered.

"Ma, ma," Jon spoke in his garbled infantile version of the common tongue. Catelyn pulled her head back and looked him in the eyes as she sat down with him in her lap.

"Yes, little wolf. I am your mother," Catelyn breathed out, followed closely by another smile from Jon, then some laughter and clapping. Catelyn laughed as well, and hugged him tight to her once more. When she pulled away, he was fast asleep, and she lay him in her arms, rocking him and eventually, just cradling him. Eventually, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to find Ned staring down at her, confusion clear as day written in his eyes.

"He's alive," Ned stated, somewhere between a question and a statement. Catelyn stuck her head back down, looking at Jon's sleeping face once more.

"Of course he's alive. He's a Stark."


	3. Chapter 3: Autumn And Fall

Disclaimer: Yeah yeah I don't own shit, blah fuckin' blah. Ain't yo momma ever teach you not to threaten to sue the poor kid? Dick.

A.N. Yeah the endin' of last chapter was kind of rushed but, eh, that chapter was only meant to be a short, albeit, necessary transition chapter. Didn't wanna just pop up with Jon bein' fourteen n say oh yeah that happened too. Thanks for the reviews, I know, I know, I'm great, I hereby grant all you permission to name yo children after me. You're welcome. And this chapter is right after Bran fell, because everything leading up to it will be 'xactly the same, 'cept Jon ain't forced to sit away from family, he's just naturally melancholy as fuck, so he chose to leave early n all that good bullshit.

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 3: Autumn Before Winter, Fall Before War**

`Jon has never been more worried in his life than he has been in this moment. He had been attempting to continue on with his regular routine, that being nonstop training in his greatest fighting style, dual longswords. Lessons from Maester Luwin were mostly a thing of the past, as Jon had learned his numbers, letters, history of war, and houses by his twelfth year, two years ago, and saw no need to pursue any knowledge in non war-related history, seeing as how he is the second son of House Stark, and would require no need for such useless trivia in the foreseeable future. These days, Jon only went to Maester Luwin's in order to have the kindly old man treat Jon's wounds, at which time, Jon would study what the maester was doing as he did it, in order to have at least some minor knowledge in the medicinal arts should he ever need them, and for whatever reason, Jon felt like he would. But, no matter how much he had watched Maester Luwin, he couldn't help Bran, the boy who's current predicament was the reason Jon could not train currently. Every time Jon swung one of his swords, the sound of it soaring through the air turned to a scream, and every time one of the blunted blades connected with the wood, straw, and cloth dummy, the thud made when dull steel hits something solidly packed was unlike itself, or how it was supposed to be rather, and was closer to the sound of a child's body connecting with the cold, hard, Northern ground after falling from an extremely high altitude. Yes, that sound could be most disturbing, considering the context and whatnot. Jon attempted to replicate the same maneuver the servants rumored was used by the great Ser Arthur Dayne to kill Ser Mark Ryswell (sorry Ser Mark I just realized I accidentally called you Glover like three times in Chapter 1), and he tried to forget about Bran as he had been doing since the accident. This was a problem he could do nothing about, a problem that had no solution, nobody to fight, only mourning. Jon refused to allow himself to enter a situation where there was a problem that he could not fix with swords, it was just illogical. So, Jon pretended to block two blades with his back to the dummy, before attempting to step completely out of the way of the two imaginary swords and bringing his right sword around as he did so, sliding across the dummy's neck as quickly and efficiently as possible, without almost losing his sword as he did the first time he attempted this, or misplacing his feet and stumbling or even falling as he did every of the next fifty times after his first try. It was a basic maneuver, not overly complicated, and was far past it, for he had been training harder than any other man or child in Winterfell for the past six years, but the basics were always good to go over, again and again, for in order to be a master, one must first master the basics, every detail of them, no matter how uncomplicated they may be. Jon completed in his reconstruction of the graceful maneuver and decided to do it again, but as he closed his eyes to get ready to do it again, and to imagine himself in the scene as the Sword of the Morning, he instead saw a broken and splattered Bran in his mind, and dropped his swords before he could even begin to reenact such beautiful swordsmanship. Little Bran, so sweet and innocent and filled with a lust for adventure, an excitement to go to King's Landing and become a great knight and swordsman, like Ser Arthur Dayne. Jon was old enough to be beyond such follies as to believe the South would be more enjoyable than the North, and he understood the falsities of such lands and the childish, immature dreams of knighthood those people produce, but Bran was still so much the little boy Jon had never been close to, and even if Bran himself would never admit it, the third Stark son still played pretend at being all the great Kingsguard of the tales, all of them, long dead, newly dead, or still alive. Now, Bran would never get to be like the idols he dreamed of being. Now, he'd only be a cripple. Jon heard a minuscule shuffling sound, interrupting his thoughts, for which he was grateful, and turned to see what it was. When he was unable to see the cause, he listened closer, and realized it was coming from his feet, and looked down to see his wolf pup, Ghost, nudging the handle of one of Jon's training swords, seeming as if he was trying to get an angle on the handle with his nose in order to pick it up. Sighing and managing to conjure up the tiniest of smiles, Jon grabbed his swords and placed them on the practice sword rack, and grabbing his dagger and sheath from it's spot resting atop the rack as he turned to leave.

"Come on, Ghost. Let's go get ready to head south. The cats and deer require lessons in why the direwolf is the pinnacle of the food chain," Jon spoke, aloud to himself more than to Ghost, to attempt to keep himself on a topic far different from that of his younger brother.

"Hahaha, the pinnacle? Boy, you Northerners must be the must honor tainted, delusional people in all of the Seven Kingdoms if you think that," a rasping, brutal voice ground out from behind Jon, "you know what a pack of dogs could do to a direwolf? Not to mention such a little one." Jon spun on his heels and spotted a great, gigantic man with a horribly burned, brutal face, sword in sheath and snarling dog helm in hand.

"Sandor Clegane. Hmph. Watch the way you talk about Ghost, Hound," Jon tried to muster as much confidence as he could for this statement, but somehow he knew that the Hound could tell how nervous he truly was.

"I wasn't talkin' about your wolf, Stark. I was talkin' about you," Clegane spoke matter-of-factly, and looked at Jon as if he was an amusingly annoying ant with an arrogance problem.

"Well, I don't see any pack of dogs, Clegane. I only see one," Jon spoke at the much larger, and meaner, man. Sandor got a dark look on his face, and his cold black eyes lit up, shining like a burning darkness. Somehow, Jon got the impression that perhaps that wasn't the most appropriate thing to tell such a volatile and violent man, if he had been hoping to diffuse the situation. Sandor began to approach Jon, hand now on the pommel of his sword before somebody roughly grabbed Jon's shoulders, putting an arm around them.

"Please, pardon my brother Ser Clegane. He hasn't been coping well with what has happened and is lashing out unwisely, I'm afraid," Robb offered, gripping Jon's shoulders just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid that letting go meant giving 'Jon to the dogs. Theon Greyjoy, ever the jester, came up on Jon's other side.

"Aye, maybe we'll take him to the brothel and teach him how to do it correctly," Greyjoy enthused.

"I'm no fuckin' Ser. Aye, you best do that," Sandor threatened before giving the three of them one last lingering look, and promptly walking off.

Robb waited a moment, until Clegane was out of earshot, before rounding on Jon, "What the hell were you doing, talking like that to a man like Clegane. And why the hell haven't you been to see Bran? Mother says she hasn't seen you there."

"Because fuck that, Robb," Jon started, before being promptly shut up by Robb smacking him across the face. They all remembered the last time Robb and Jon had brawled, and although Robb was stockier, Jon was two inches taller and had much longer reach and more training in all forms of combat, including unarmed fighting. So, for Robb to physically assault him must mean Robb believed himself to be one-hundred percent correct in his next statement.

"Now you listen to me, and you listen close Jon Stark. Bran is our little brother, and we are all hurt by his fall, but you have to join us in our mourning. Remember what father says? The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. It's time to be part of the pack, Jon," Robb proclaimed, and Jon knew he had just been properly shamed.

"It's just, he's always so full of life, and when I get there... I don't want to see him like that Robb. So hurt. So _broken._ What the hell am I supposed to do Robb? Who is there to fight, how am I supposed to deal with this? How..." Jon trailed off before sticking his head down to hide the tears running rampant.

"It's okay Jon. Just go see Bran and Mother before you leave," Robb told Jon, grasping his shoulders and hugging him. With his business done, Robb left with Theon to gods-know-where.

Jon exited the training yard, heading up the stairs of the castle and walking down it's hallways, past servants and guards and visitors, towards his room, lost deep in thought, almost in a trance. When he arrived at his room, he entered, only to find a servant carrying the last of his bags out of the room, and Jon figured his father must have had them taken down to his horse, believing to Jon to be indisposed of in his grief. With that thought in mind, he headed towards Bran's room, with enactments of every scenario he could imagine in his head.

When Jon actually arrived at Bran's room, he could hear nothing, and everything was so lifeless, he could practically feel the walls dragging the soul out of him. Opening the door, the first thing he spotted was his mother sitting in a chair next to Bran's bed, pale and sick looking, with red-rimmed eyes and bags under them, spinning a prayer wheel, with an empty wine bottle beside her. The next thing Jon saw, as he tiptoed over towards his mother, was Bran in his bed. He couldn't see Bran's body, but he could definitely imagine what it looked like. He could, however, see Bran's face, and that was enough to tell him that Bran was alive, though in poor shape. Clammy forehead with wet, sweaty auburn hair stuck to it, and a colorless face accompanied by closed eyes, somehow more haunting than Jon thought realized he had stopped mid-stride and refocused, walking over and kissing his mother on her cheek, then turning and kneeling at Bran's bedside.

"Hey Bran. It's... it's Jon. I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I should have, but I didn't, and there's absolutely no excuse for not doing so. I'm so sorry. I should have been with you, watching you, making sure you weren't climbing. But I wasn't, and for that, I'll never forgive myself. If I could give or do anything to get you to wake up and be okay, I would do or give anything. But, I have to go south with father, to King's Landing. I know you'll wake up. You're too stubborn not to. You're strong too. Don't let this change you. I love you little brother." At that, Jon lowered reached over and kissed Bran on the forehead, holding his lips longer than socially deemed necessary in regular circumstances.

"So you're still leaving with your father, then?" Jon's mother, the Lady Catelyn, croaked out from behind Jon.

"Yes, mother. Father needs me. To watch after Arya and Sansa."

"No. He doesn't. You just want to go. To leave us. You were right." At this point, Jon turned around, confused by what his mother was saying. "It was your fault. The gods are punishing me for accepting you as my own child, by taking one of my actual children from me. Your father and you spit on the vows made to them, and they're taking my son for it. It should have been you that fell out of the tower." Jon's eyes teared up, and he looked for something to say, anything, but he found nothing. "Get out bastard. Leave me and my son in peace."

Catelyn's voice was shaky, and it rank of wine, but to Jon, it may have very well been poison. He stuck his head low, and exited the room calmly, but as soon as he was in the hallway, Jon started running. He grabbed Ghost from his spot by the door, and ran and ran, through hallways, down stairs, all the way to the courtyard, where he stuck Ghost in a bundle on his horse, ready to go. He mounted his steed, and rode to the gates. There, he questioned the guard.

"How long ago did my uncle and the black brothers leave?" Jon demanded of the nervous guard.

"Not too long m'lord. Only been an hour I believe." The guard stated, clearly anxious due to Jon's stormy expression.

"Very well. Open the gates."

"You heard the little lord, open the gates!" The guard shouted to the men either side of the great gates of Winterfell. The guards moved quickly, removing the wooden bar and shoving the doors wide open, ten men to a door. And with that, Jon Stark, the second son of House Stark, rode out of Winterfell, never to see it again for quite some time.


	4. Chapter 4: Because Fuck It

Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or AGOT or Jon or Ghost or this or that or fuckin' anything! Why can't George just let me have one nice thing? *Cue tear.

A.N. Soooo... yeah. I was goin' to update weeks ago but then shit came up, you know how it is. We've reached over 100 followers so thank you. I don't know who was number 100 but whoever it was, (::) for you. I'm hopin' to update more often but let's be honest, my word on updates is to assurance, what a one-legged man is to an ass kickin' contest. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would prefer to the chapter, yes? Oh, and you lucky ducks, this is the chapter where all your Jon and the Wall related questions and hopes are either confirmed or crushed. What do you think? Will Jon have an alternative purpose, a different path, or will he become just... another brick in the wall? ALL IN ALL, YOU"RE JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL, WE DON"T NEED NO EDUCATION! Shut up, culture yaself you filthy peasants. Oh and majority of this chapter will happen at the edge of the Wolfswood on the Last River, lined up with Last Hearth, on the west side of the forest. Oh, and since I didn't think of sayin' it earlier, Jon looks like Kit Harrington, but with gray eyes, and not so fuckin' short.

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 4: Because Fuck It**

Jon swore, the when he met Bran the Builder in the next life, he'd beat the elder Stark to death with his own fucking feet for building the Wall so fucking far from Winterfell. Of course, Jon had to take partial blame for the situation he was in, trekking on foot North, soles bleeding, or were bleeding before they froze. After all, nobody told him to leave, or to wake up late on the road one day and attempt to make up for lost time by speeding by, or to subsequently break his horses ankle in a hole on the path, having to slit it's throat to put it out of it's misery. But, Jon had liked that fucking steed, and was too angry to be calm and logical. Tripping over another root, the second eldest son of House Stark let loose a string of curses, words so heavy Jon fancied it was them he was seeing in the air rather than his own breath. He knew it was stupid to believe that, but it helped him to forget how cold it was, so he'd go with it. Attempting to resume his trek onward, he caught sight of Ghost giving him a seemingly exasperated look.

"Oh shut up you mutt," Jon demanded, staring intently into Ghosts eyes. In return, Ghost's look changed to the point that Jon could imagine he was questioning Jon's abilities due to him telling a mute wolf to shut up. "Oh fuck off already, you bloody cunt."

And so Jon continued picking up his feet and placing them forward, moving, slowly or quickly, it made no matter, it was a cold and dark night, and moving helped no matter how you did it. Not to mention, he had to make up time, considering his Uncle Benjen, Lord Tyrion, and the Black Brothers were mostly on horses and had already had a head start on him before he had the incident with his horse. In his attempt to make up for lost ground, Jon had decided to cut through the Wolfswood instead of staying on the Kingsroad to follow the curve of it. Now, however, Jon wished he had stayed on the road, for now, staring into the abyss that was the infamous Northern forest, rippling tree shadows made by moonlight, shaped both suspicious and completely irregular glancing past Jon and on and off trees, deadly silent, as if the whole of the woods was holding it's breath, Jon knew he was lost. He was traveling North, that much he was almost sure of, but where exactly he was in the forest he could not tell. How far West was he?

"Fucking Nights Watch, fucking Kingsroad, fucking North," Jon's ramblings of immature spite were cut short when he heard the river and saw the fire, up, not far from him, almost a dot to be sure, but close enough he could make it if he ran. There was another noise, multiple actually, but Jon didn't care, help was so close. Picking up speed, Jon began to sprint towards the light at the end of the forest, the sound of running water getting ever closer, and a grin broke out on Jon's face. Jon almost felt like letting his tongue hang out as he ran, like he imagined Ghost or a dog would, but he doubted anybody would want to help some raggedy wolf boy running from the woods. He was so close, and Jon opened his mouth to yell, excitement leaking from his very pores, only for Jon to stop in the middle of the action and freeze up mid stride when he realized what was happening. Metal on metal, yells of anger and pain, the very sound of blood being spilt on this, the land that his father ruled. Dropping behind a tree, Jon caught his breath, before peeking around, watching as two men threw each other into the large fire Jon had been running for. They both came up, screaming, running like chickens with their heads cut off, though soon enough the wails that pierced Jon's eardrums stopped as the air around the men was eaten up, devoured by the flames that covered each man, and before Jon could think further on it, he realized that while one man had dropped by the fire, trying futilely to put the flames out in the dirt, the other man was running in Jon's direction, sword still amazingly in hand, waving in some weird motion, arms back and forth, as if acting out the part of a monster in some child's tale would end the pain, the destruction of his very flesh, flames searing the existence of his body as it ever was. He finally dropped, hitting the river not ten feet from Jon and his tree, wriggling against the current, writhing in the hopes that something would end it, and soon enough the flames died out, unable to stand up against the coolness of the icy Northern water.

Jon moved forward, still crouched, unable to see if any other person was around to see him. Coming up on the body of the man, Jon heard a croaking noise. Deducing it was coming from the man, Jon hurried up, placing his hands on the ground near the body in order to examine the wounds. The smell of burnt flesh invaded Jon's nostrils, and he gagged for a moment, until he noticed the eyes staring up at him. Jon grabbed a handful of the cloak cooked to be entwined with the skin and meat of man, and pulled, dragging him out of the shallow stream, only for him to drag the man halfway out of the river before the skin fell off of the man, coming out in handfuls along with the cloak in Jon's hands. Hearing a moan emitting from the man at the feeling of such a terrible injury, Jon decided he was far enough out. Looking down to inspect what could be salvaged on the man, something caught Jon's eye. Inspecting a piece of the cloak that, miraculously, was unburnt, a cloud moved out of the way of the moon's path, allowing Jon to see, in the light of the moon, the gruesome sight of the body before him, as well as the Brothers cloak he wore. This couldn't be one of his Uncle's men could it? No, of course it couldn't. But, if it was, than his uncle was somewhere, in the battle. Realizing that this may be his chance to save his uncle, he reached for the sword in the Black Brothers hand, he clinched the hand of the man with both of his, hoping to manage to pry open the vice grip. After a second, a crack was heard, and the sword free. Looking down, Jon saw the Brother's hand broken almost in two, looking almost as brutal as the rest of his body. Jon stood up, quickly turning to leave for the skirmish, when he remembered, due to the moan of agony, that the man was in fact alive. Jon turned, gazing down on the man, and made the hardest decision he ever had in his life. Knowing fully well that nothing could be done for the man unless there was a Maester in the immediate vicinity, Jon placed the tip of his newly acquired sword at where he believed the heart of the Black Brother to be.

"I'm sorry," Jon expressed to the burnt man, before pushing all of his weight and force downward with the sword, killing the man, and extinguishing his light.

 **-Linebreak-**

Catelyn was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she looked up from her zoned gaze on Bran in his bed to look up at her eldest son, Robb. His blue Tully eyes stared at her in concern, seemingly voicing the questions she knew he had for her.

"Mother you must leave, you need to eat and rest," Robb started before being interrupted by his Mother.

"No, I need to stay here with Bran. In peace," Catelyn retorted, before looking at her hands, realizing that while she was staring at Bran and talking to Robb, she had been spinning a prayer wheel for the son she had been thinking about, Jon. Catelyn did not need to tell Robb that she wanted to stay with Bran not only for Bran but also to pray for Jon's safety and forgiveness in quiet. Of course, that would raise the question from her eldest son as to why she would need to pray for Jon's, Robb's favorite friend and brother since they were babes, forgiveness. Catelyn hadn't the heart to tell her boy that she was the reason somebody so important to them both, as well as the whole family, had run off to God's know where.

"Mother, Bran will wake up, and Jon will come back. Please, come out of this room," When Catelyn shook her head again, Robb sighed, before turning to the men, Rodrik Cassel and Maester Luwin at the door, and leaving with them.

"Please Jon, my little silent wolf, please come back to me, safe. You can hate me, so long as you're okay."

 **-This Linebreak is brought to you by Fuck You, the pure product with none of the hassle-**

Jon advanced through the darkness of the woods, heading toward the rocky clearing. Most men were dead by now, though some still continued to battle on, raging against the last light of life, refusing to go meekly. A large man stood in between Jon and the people left, Jon noticed, and as Jon snuck up behind him, he took in the appearance, or what he could see, of the man. A bald, scarred head, broad shoulders, bronze armor, and a huge, wicked looking bronze battleaxe. Stopping a few feet short of the monster like man in front of him, Jon eased the breath out of him, before gently pulling some air back in, quietly, so as not to alert the man of Jon's presence. He pointed his blade towards the man's upper back, so that hopefully the steel would sprout out of the man's chest, piercing as many organs as possible before doing so. Using all of the power in his legs, Jon sprang up and forward leaping at the man with his sword out, and Jon was met with the satisfactory sound, sharp as it was, of his new blade running through weaker bronze, and following through to exit the opposite side of the giant. Said giant fell to his knees, axe dropping from his hands, as he lets out a grunt of dissatisfaction, as though the sword in him was an unpleasant inconvenience rather than a life ending injury. Jon quickly released his grip on the blade, nervous due to the lack of a reaction by the man he had just stabbed, before quickly grabbing the axe from the ground and spinning with it to Jon's left and around the man's right side, from his back to his front. As Jon followed through with the spin, he swung the axe with all of his might at the man's neck, using the momentum of the spin as well as the strength of his arms to, hopefully, cut off his victim's head with the large axe.

Unfortunately, Jon had not trained in the axe as much as he possibly should have, opting to spend more time honing his forte, the sword, and so his aim was a little off. It hit the man in the neck, but due to the angle the blade was at going in, it went only halfway through before being wrenched out of Jon's grip. The man's eyes, cold and snakelike, glared at Jon as he choked on his own blood, falling forward and to his right, dying, slowly. Jon stared at the man for a second before he heard footsteps behind him, rushing towards him, and he jumped forward, foot on the nearly dead man's back as Jon grabbed the grip of his blade in the man's sternum, and used all of his strength to pull outward, managing to succeed before quickly ducking and spinning to his left again, stabbing his sword outward as he jumped again, though only forward instead of up. Jon looked up to find the eyes of the man he had skewered, who was wielding a war axe, staring at him in shock. Deciding he had no time to stop and stare as he had earlier, due to the distinct lack of sounds of battle, Jon spun out, pulling his sword with him as he spun, slashing at the man who had just arrived. The strike was parried, and Jon got a chance to look at his opponent. The man was about Jon's height, short for a full grown man, but stockier than Jon, if only slightly. Hateful black eyes glared at Jon, though Jon refused to back down.

"Crow," The man stated before charging forward, swinging downward at Jon who turned to the side, avoiding the blade, responding with his own slash traveling upward towards the head of his foe. His head jerked backward, safely dodging the bloody blade, before shooting forward with the Wildling blade coming from his right, slashing at Jon's left. Jon twisted, rotating on his feet, as he glanced the opposition's blade of his own behind his back, with both his arms above his head holding on to the longsword in his grip, before continuing with his movement, using all the energy in it to help him spin the blade above his head and bring it downward in a wide and quick arc, from side to side, and after following through, jumping back without staying to see if it was a success, to ensure he would not fall to the raider's blade. He looked to see the older warrior glaring at him again, standing on his own two feet, blade raised as if to hack at Jon, before a bright red line appeared on the Wildling's neck, speedily growing wider and brighter in the light of the large campfire. Blood started to spray and pour from the open wounds as his blade dropped, and his eyes followed Jon. The Stark looked up to examine the battlefield, and saw nothing until, THERE, a girl and a man stood by a man on his knees by the fire, and the girl seemed to be pointing in Jon's direction. Realizing she had a bow, Jon dropped, feeling the arrow fly past his head and rustle his hair.

"Fucking archer," Jon cursed through his teeth as his body seemed to move on it's own, pressing forward until he was right in front of the man he had fought most recently, who was still alive. Seeing the man's blade was out of his hand, Jon grabbed him by his furs and managed to get him on his feet, charging forward to close the fifteen foot gap with the meat shield in front of him. Blood spurted and poured onto Jon's face and hands, drenching him in almost no time, Though Jon didn't seem to care or notice. Hearing a thud hit by his feet, Jon leapt up shortly, momentarily, hearing the arrow hit where his feet once were, he picked up speed, rushing forward, hearing two more arrows hit the body of the now dead man in his arms before the body dropped and Jon was there, slashing and managing to cut the girl's bow with his first slash, ducking to dodge the axe hack of the last Wildling man, and bringing his sword across the man's belly, cutting through fur and all to pierce his skin, though only enough for it to be an inconvenience, neither a serious wound nor a fatal injury. Jon spun, putting his foot back to catch his balance before pressing forward, slashing downward at the axe, meeting it, then clashing from the side and meeting it again. Feeling a presence nearly right behind him, Jon turned sideways while putting his hand up, catching the archer girl's hand by the wrist as she was about to bring an knife down on him. Ripping the knife out of her grasp, he swung again at the axe man from Jon's left side with his sword, hitting it and knocking it to the man's left, if only for a second, so that Jon could leap in, stabbing the knife into the man's kidney and dropping into a crouch in order to dodge the backhanded slash that came his way, then jumping up while simultaneously slashing down ward with his sword, cutting through the Wildling's face and chest. Jon allowed the force of the swing, powerful as it was, to carry through as he stepped to the side, coming up to stop directly at the girl's throat as she was about to strike him down with an arrow in hand. She stopped and glared at him as he did likewise. Jon was tempted to force the blade through her jugular, but thought of what his father would say, and thought better of it.

"Sit," Jon commanded, before placing his blade to the side of her neck and shooting forward, folding his arm in as his elbow shot forward, crashing into her chin and effectively knocking her out. Taking a moment to admire his handiwork, Jon remembered the man on his knees and turned to find him now on his ass. He was large, stocky, and although old, he seemed to be in decent shape, with a Northern face if Jon had ever seen one. Gray white hair and beard framed a stern, hard look that can only come from a man that had seen more than his fair share of Northern winters. He wore a large, black, lordly looking cloak, with several arrows sticking out of it, and him, and in his right hand he held a beautiful blade, a longsword of beautiful design with a bear head pommel, the blade slightly bloody but beautiful nonetheless, rippling, looking as if the metal had been folded and reforged a thousand times in the hottest fires. Valyrian Steel.

"Who the fuck are you green boy?" The man demanded of Jon before coughing up a large amount of blood on to the solid Northern dirt.

"I am Jon Stark. Who are you?" Jon replied, irritated with being called a green boy, however true it may be.

"I am Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"What happened here my lord?"

"We had heard that some Wildlings had gotten past the wall. With you're uncle at Winterfell, I decided I would lead the party to hunt them down. Unfortunately, they were waiting for us. They waited until we had made camp, then they dropped in on us. I sent a man North as soon as the fighting started, he should get to the Wall with the news. I don't think I will last that long however."

"No, my lord. You'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

"Boy, if you believe that, then you're so green that if you were to be any greener I'd grow fuckin' crops off you. Listen, that Wildling bitch there, either get answers out of her yourself and find your father, or take her to your father and let him get the answers. The lords of the North must know what is coming. Do you understand?"

"Aye, my lord."

"Good. One last thing, Stark. This, is Longclaw. It is the ancestral sword of my house. Take it with you, keep it, use it, but the old gods help me, if I ever see a man not of the North wielding it I'll fucking kill you twice. Got it?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now, there's rope over there in the packs. Get it done." With that, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch died, unceremoniously, in a rocky clearing. Turning back to the girl to see Ghost nudging her unconscious form, Jon sighed.

"So much for the Night's Watch."


	5. Chapter 5: Made By Love, Fed By Hate

Disclaimer: Piss off, yeah?

 **A.N. Yeeeah hey so long time no see huh? Heheheh... stay back, I'm warnin' you, I am a man who knows a man who owns a knife. So what's up guys, it's been awhile, no hard feelin's I hope. For a soundtrack to the story, overall it's weird, but eventually, starting at the end of this chapter, it'll mostly be Von Poe VII x Jus Allah - Wolves; DMX - X Is Coming For You; and for most of this chapter it's Childish Gambino - Redbone. Since I'll forget by the end of this, please review, favorite, or follow if you like. These things feed me. "They are my flame, my muse." Cookies to the man who brings me the head... er... rather, the name of the man who says that, and the show it's from.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 5: A Monster Made By Love, Fed By Hate**

"Hurry up, or else I'll have to drag you South." It was fair to say that Jon was beginning to become frustrated with Ygritte's pace, as well as her mouth.

"Aye, as if you could. Skinny arms and smooth jaw and all, pretty as a maidens dream." Extremely frustrated. He could basically hear the smirk in her voice, and he had the sudden urge to tie her to a tree and leave her to the wolves. The young Stark turned and glared at the wildling girl.

"Aye, I'd wager I could. Unless it turns out that underneath all those furs you're fat as a bear," At this, Jon smirked back, expecting her to be offended, as Sansa or even Arya would have been. Instead, he was shocked when she smiled back.

"Well, wouldn't you like to know? **I'd** wager you could find out tonight," the honesty and clever ruthlessness in her smile only made Jon's head spin faster, and his trousers grow tighter. His eyes hardened, and he turned his back to the redhead.

"No I wouldn't like to find out. No self respecting Northman who's worth his weight in steel would go cavorting with some Wildling," Jon could almost feel the air get colder when he said this, despite him knowing he wished he could agree with her. A second later, he felt a presence beside him, and her mouth next to his ear.

"You know nothing Jon Stark. The Free Folk and you Southerners are no different, save we didn't kneel to some Southron king," Then she was off, several feet ahead of them, the rope tying her to him growing tauter with each step. Jon wanted to argue with her, but before he could conjure a counterargument, it finally, completely struck him as to what she had just said to him. This wasn't a new idea to him wholly, in fact, he had often contemplated the connection of history and ideologies where Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt, and his kneeling itself, were concerned. While the dark Stark completely understood why Torrhen had knelt, to save his people, and it was admirable. But surely, amongst a people as hardy as the Northerners, there must have been plenty of men more willing to die than to kneel? From the land that produced the Hungry Wolf Theon Stark, the Skaagosi, and even the first Ironborn, it couldn't have all been a love for life over pride and independence. An even more difficult question for Jon, what would he choose? Now that all the dragons were dead and gone, the only thing keeping the North from seceding was his father's love for the Baratheon king and his close proximity to the Lannisters. Could they finally secede from the Southern fools?

Jon's thoughts were interrupted by a nudging at his ankle, and he looked down to find Ghost peering at him. The company of his direwolf comforted Jon, bringing him out of his philosophies allowing him to simplify the situation as Ygritte simply not understanding the delicate infrastructure of a civilized society. _Women_ , his look spoke to Ghost. Ghosts eyes conveyed back a different message, _Jackass._ Slightly shocked, Jon could only watch as the growing pup walked forward, joining Ygritte several feet ahead. Groaning in disbelief and exhaustion, the Stark picked up speed, loosening the tension in the rope between him and Ygritte, prompting her to pick up speed once more.

 **-Yo check out my man, Linebreak's, mixtape, it's white hot fire-**

The gates of Last Hearth opened with a great, heaving groan, only adding an ancient feeling to the Northern stronghold. Though not as large as Winterfell, and surely never to be as large as Harrenhal or the Red Keep were said to be, it was still large enough to be imposing. Especially when taking into account the fearsome and large Lords of it, as well as the largely fearsome reputation. Still, something about the keep seemed so homelike to Jon, something so utterly Northern. Despite the contagious sense of homesickness the home of the Umbers imposed upon him, great caution was a necessity in this situation, Ygritte's life depended on it. Jon had promised to get Ygritte to Jon's father for questioning, and he intended to keep that promise, though Jon supposed that perhaps there was some personal feeling he had for Ygritte that could not be ignored forever, and would make it difficult to just allow her to die here.

Glares were not alien to Jon, he may have been the son of a lord, but it was a Northern lord, and although he was fed better than the son of a commoner, he was still expected to be a man, and was subject to treatments not typically experienced by little lordlings South of the Neck. However, the intensity of the glares sent in Ygritte and his direction was so forceful, that even though he was sure they were aimed at the tied up Wildling girl, he could not help but feel the heat of a hundred, hateful eyes boring into him, almost overwhelming the young boy. The Umbers were well known for hating the Wildlings more than any other family in the North, not to mention all seven of the kingdoms that made up Westeros. Old grudges die hard, it would seem.

The crowd eventually began to dissipate as the guards began to put them back to what they were doing, and the three men who had been at the back of the crowd, right in front of the steps leading up to the hall of the Umbers, stepped forward, giving the young Stark a better view of the giants. All three were towering masses of muscle, fur, and beards, though the youngest was his father's age and the other two were even older. Due to the ages and the eye-patch, Jon was able to deduce their names. The youngest was Lord Jon Umber, known as the Greatjon. The one with the eye patch was Mors Umber, who they called Crowfood because a crow had once thought him dead, only to find out his blunder when he pecked out Mors eye and was caught, having his head bitten off. The last, though not least, of the men was Hother "Whoresbane" Umber, who earned his nickname by disemboweling a whore who had tried to rob him in Oldtown some years back.

"Now what, by the Gods, is this fuckery?" ( **A.N. Fuckery is my favorite word, so I couldn't help myself. Expect to see it used more.** ) The Greatjon all but roared, his thunder-like voice reverberating throughout the Northern fortress, like the sounds of war hammering one's ears.

"Greetings, my lords Umber. I'm Jon Stark, Lord Stark's second son. This is Ygritte, and this is Ghost, I was hoping we could come into your hall and speak more on the matters at hand?" Jon figured that Lord Umber's duty to his father would have dominated the decision, but the look in the giant lord's eyes when gazing upon Ygritte was quickly turning Jon's assumption into a hope.

"Aye, you've the look of a Stark, and any boy of Ned's is welcome in my hall. Come in, partake in my bread and salt. Let's go in quickly, I've got a stray Black Brother in my home, and I'd like for us all to get everything sorted I'll tell you now though, I offer neither food nor drink to Wildlings." With that, the old warrior turned around and began the march up the grand staircase, with his uncles and his new guests, plus Wildling girl, in tow.

 **-It ain't nothin' but a Linebreak baby-**

"So the maester says to him, 'I'm afraid you'll die in five.' The man says, 'Five what?' and the maester says, 'Four, three, two, one,'" The group of Northerners around the table explode in laughter as a man in a black cloak with a Westerlands accent, who it was found out is Ser Lucion Lannister, tells jokes to them. Apparently, he had been part of a party sent south to find the late Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, only to be set upon by a seemingly random band of Wildlings. When Jon had then related his story to the Umbers and Ser Lucion, it had created a tense and terse atmosphere, solemn by every right, until the ale had been brought in and the men had started to drink. Spirits had raised, as men had raised the spirits to their lips, and a more joyous time had never been had, though earlier on when Jon had spoken to the Greatjon about Ygritte, he promised she would come to no harm, but also that she would sleep in the stables, as his ancestors would turn in their graves at a Wildling in their home. Jon, who was just happy that Ygritte was not to die, had readily agreed.

More drinking, and several hours of more merriment later, the Greatjon's son, known as the Smalljon, had returned to Last Hearth, having hunted down a band of Wildling raiders that they had gotten word of, which was now believed to be the same group that Ser Lucion had escaped from. After conversing with the Smalljon, bonding over loose tongues spilling tales of great Northern pride and independence, as well as dead Wildlings, Jon bade them all a farewell, joining the retreat of several other men out of the hall, them to their homes, Jon to the room a servant had given him directions to. Upon arrival, Jon nearly collapsed onto his bed, before he felt Ghost at his leg, which lead to a series of thoughts and memories, all concluding in the thought of Ygritte. Refraining from dropping on his face, the young Stark sauntered out of the room, heading in the general direction he believed the stables to be in.

On his way to the stables, he came across several different people who he greeted warmly, conversing with momentarily before leaving off to the stables once more. Upon arrival, Jon stopped to regain his bearings and balance, hoping to appear sober in the face of a rejected woman. And there, carrying in the air, Jon could hear it, the sounds coming from the stable, grunting. Drawing Longclaw from it's scabbard on his back, the Stark stepped into the stables.

The sight that greeted Jon left him speechless, though only momentarily. Ser Lucion was behind a half-naked and bent over Ygritte, thrusting his hips, both making moans of great pleasure. Jon was filled with rage, and his vision went red, before blacking out, and when it was clear enough to be red again, the Valyrian steel blade in Jon's hand was skewering the Lannister knight through the chest, and Ygritte was gasping. Jon looked at Ygritte and she attempted to speak, only for Jon's hand to strike her across the mouth. Now she was on her bare ass in the hay and dirt, and as Jon's hand stung he understood that it was like he was watching as he did something without his consent.

Now, the rope still tied around her midriff and to a beam too high for her to reach, was untied at one end, now in Jon's hands. Now, the loop around Ygritte was traveling with Jon's hands, upwards, and now it was tightening around her neck. Now she was kicking and screaming, and the second blow across her face stunned her silent and dizzy. The rope was over the beam above them, and then Jon was on the side of it opposite to Ygritte, with the end of the rope in his hands, wrapped around his wrists and forearms several times for a better grip. The next Jon knew, he was facing away from the redhead, tears stinging his eyes as he used his shoulders and arms to pull on the rope as he walked forward, pulling the rope more and more taut, and, eventually, hefting Ygritte up into the air.

Once Jon was far enough that the stream of garbled choking noises being emitted by the girl failed to be interrupted, he stayed there, shoulders down and hunched, tears streaming down his eyes. Eventually, the noises stopped, and the pressure on the rope was no longer jerking, rather, it was still and steady, as something that had ceased to move. Jon let the rope slip from his hands, and he heard the limp body of the young woman he had fallen for hit the ground with a dull thud.

"What the fuck? Jon, is that you? What the bloody fuck happened here?" The slurring, obviously drunk and panicking voice sounded familiar and worried, and when Jon turned, he found the voice belonged to his new friend, the Smalljon, longsword out.

"I... they... she... I... I didn't mean to, Jon," Jon sounded almost like a petrified and sad child, silently begging for comfort. Jon Umber stepped forward, observing the scene before him, before racing up to the Stark and gripping his shoulders, shaking him out of his inner turmoil.

"Come on, keep it together Stark. We need to get out of here. Nobody will care for her here, but he's a different story, he's a black brother. Even then, you'd be fine, but Tywin Lannister'll be coming for blood. Grab your sword, go get that saddle, and put it on that horse, HEY! Stay with me here Jon," The Smalljon sounded calm, but urged on Jon in order to move him faster, directing him to get everything together. Jon moved, doing as he was told, and before he knew it, he had found himself on the back of a horse, Ghost in a sack in his lap, and Longclaw on his back. The young Umber heir pulled up next to him, his sword on his back, and Lucion's sheathed sword in one hand, two sacks of apples from the doorway of the stables in his other. Together, they rode out, and up to the gates, where the Smalljon shouted some orders at the guards, and they fled, out into the crisp air of the Northern night. Smalljon Umber, who was helping a friend flee, and his friend, Jon Stark. A monster. A monster made by love, and fed by hate.

 **So what do you think, eh? What, no answer? Ya know what, ignore me once, fuck you. Ignore me twice, fuck me. Ignore me three times, and fuck you, SO hard. XD**


	6. Chapter 6: Savagery At It's Finest

Disclaimer: Ugh I'm gettin' tired of this bullshit.

 **A.N. So, here it is. Earlier than last time, don't bitch. Headache like a mofucka. SkepticalSteven: Chill bruh. Appreciate the offer and the enthusiasm, but somehow havin' Jon strangle bitches to death because they laugh at his small dick while Smalljon jacks off to it just don't fit in this story. Thanks though. So, basically, the civilization y'all gon' meet are very similar to the Celtic or Norse cultures.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 6: Savagery At It's Finest**

The night's air was crisp, but the sullen, silent, reflective quality created by the atmosphere weighed heavily on Jon Stark. While normally, a chance to to be alone with his own thoughts was a welcome change to the hectic life of the young man, he had no wishes to experience such a moment tonight. In his head, two voices sparred, engaging in verbal warfare over the very fabric of Jon's life and his philosophies, neither winning, tongues like swords clashing and ringing as silence surrounded Jon, the lack of sound reigning supreme outside of him as the fires of linguistic combat were fueled onward inside his mind, their debate fueled by a fervor like one that would be made by dependency of their lives on it. Perhaps, their lives did depend on it, the more Jon thought on it. The first voice, one that was bright but sad, reminded Jon of what he must have been only a few years prior. A voice that sounded like it wanted to be a hero, and it mourned for the "unjust" deaths of Ygritte and Lucion. The second voice, however, was less innocent. It was prone to snarls and growls and dark, raspy chuckles, sounding almost like feral barks from some angry, spiteful beast. It had no dreams of knightly honor or being a hero such as the first voice did.

 _Oh Gods, what have we done? Oh, we're monsters!_ The first voice wailed.

 _ **Why?**_ The second voice retorted, sounding disgruntled with the pitch and tone his opponent carried.

 _We killed her! We killed Ygritte!_ The first screamed at the second.

 _ **So? The bitch had it comin'!**_ The second's voice sounded annoyed yet amused, chuckling by the end of his statement.

The hairs on Jon's neck stood up when that last statement rang out, and it shook Jon to the very core that such a thing came out of **his** mind. There was no malice in the statement, no hatred. However, the nonchalance of it, the hint of glee mixed in, was what scared Jon. The Stark was still unconvinced that Ygritte had deserved it, rather, he believed, the same as the first voice, that that excuse was a simple, untrue justification in place of his real reason, a reasoning far darker, almost unspeakable by societies standards and expectations.

 _What type of beast are you to believe or speak such things?_

 _ **I am man, an animal. I am as my ancestors were, two-legged wolves on the prowl, head hunting, as man always was before he convinced himself he was better than his nature.**_

 __ _Bullshit, Father is a man, and he never did this._

 _ **Are you sure about that? Father went to war, did he not? And even if you are right, it is only because Father has been tricked, deceived into following the customs of a culture growing too soft to survive in a world ran by beasts that once bowed before man, that man now**_ _ **either**_ _ **calls monsters**_ _ **or ignores**_ _ **. Father has denied his natural rights**_ _ **as king of the wild**_ _ **in order to please and keep safe women and children, who, he has been taught, are more precious than life itself. The First Men understood the truth as I do. The two times man is most himself, when he is most human, are when**_ _ **he is**_ _ **fighting or fucking,**_ _ **taking life or making it**_ _ **. We have been lied to. We have been spiritually brutalized, my friend. Who are they to tell us what is right, when the most inhumane thing you can do to a man is suppress his nature and force him to live a life without being able to properly fulfill his lust for steel and blood?**_

 __The second had finally lost it's temper it seemed, snarling at the first voice. Jon waited for the first voice to respond, but was met with silence, exemplifying Jon's own turmoil with the darker being's tirade. Jon, while an emotional being, was driven by logic, and found himself unable to beat back the argument that the second voice made. During the fight, Jon's inner war was stopped dead in it's tracks by the rays of golden light that spilled through the tree tops and splashed across his face. While they were long out of the Wolfswood, they had manage to find a cluster of trees thick enough to protect them against the brunt of any storms should they come. The golden light warmed Jon up and cooled him down.

"Come on Stark, it's daybreak. Once more, our trek begins. Fuckin' Hells, do you ever sleep? I've seen arrowheads smaller than the bags under your eyes," It would seem the Smalljon was up and about, packing up his equipment, seemingly more ready for this than Jon himself.

"No, not much. Or at all. I don't know, I can't really remember. Let's get going, no time to waste."

The Stark and Umber sons mounted with their bedrolls and swords, then set off at a brisk pace Eastward, towards the rising sun. Jon had no exact idea as to where they were going, never having actually stopped to ask the young, lumbering Umber ( **A.N. Yes, I just fuckin' did, do somethin' 'bout it, bitch, square up wit' me** ).

"Hey, Umber?"

"Yeah, Stark?"

"Where are we going?"

The look on the Smalljon's face was thoughtful for a second, quickly becoming grim. Well, if it wasn't for a lack of wantin' to leave the North, and an excess of love for our homeland, we'd go to Essos. But, that is not to be, as it is. If it wasn't for the deep hatred of Wildlings we'd go North of the Wall, but since the Land of Always Winter is always filled with Wildlings, we'll steer clear, especially since they probably won't be too happy to meet an Umber and a Stark."

"True enough. So where are we going?"

"Why, we're going to the most savage and lawless place South of the Wall."

And then, Jon knew, out of seemingly nowhere, where they were going, and he stopped his steed at once. "Skagos? We're going to fuckin' Skagos? The Island of the First Raiders? The land where men murder and eat other men, where they still partake in the First Night?"

"None of that is known to be true. What we know about Skagosi and Skagos, is that it holds three houses, those being houses Crowl, Magnar, and Stane. Skaggs is a slur used by other Northmen, and we shouldn't say it there. Skagos supposedly means 'Stone' in the Old Tongue. We also know that hundreds of years ago, King Brandon Stark IX smashed their forces for raiding along the Eastern coast, and he burned all their ships, denying them the sea. Then, a hundred years ago, during the rule of King Daeron II, the Skagosi rebelled against House Stark and it's Targaryen overlords. It was a bloody rebellion and lasted years in which they even killed Lord Barthogan Stark. The rebellion was put down, but only after the Skagosi made the rest of Westeros pay in blood for every inch they took from the Skagosi."

"… So why exactly are we going there?"

"Because, the relationship Skagos has with the rest of the North is fragmented. You being there can help fix that, rectify all that's happened. I know you feel something coming, the same as me. And if there is a war on the way, I'd rather have those fuckin' savages on our side than attacking us from the side while we fight other wars. Besides, they still love to fight on Skagos, and are bred for it. They're damn good at it. Besides, reports show that the Skagosi population is growing, and that the ships are being rebuilt. There's even a chance some of them are raiding again."

"So? They're fuckin' murderers!"

"So are you, Stark," Umber smirked at Jon, and Jon had the sudden urge to wipe it off his face, scowling at his large friend. They both spurred their horses forward, resuming their journey towards the unknown.

- **Linebreak Bitch** -

Jon and Jon hid behind a rock at the top of a ridge, overlooking a small settlement on the coast of the Bay of Seals. The twilit sky was covered in clouds as the homes burned. The moon and the Northern Lights shone through it all though, displaying what must have been a Skagosi raiding party running rampant in the village, dragging men and women from their homes, though the children ran out the back exits and up the hills behind the village, away from the sea, untouched. The raiders laughed, harsh barks, not unlike the laughs Jon heard from a voice not unlike his when he closed his eyes. A ship lay on the shore, unlike any the Stark had seen. It was not a galley or galleon, rather, what must have been a longship, the ship of choice for raiders. The ship was dark, the wood ebony seeming, it's single sail blacker than night, and the head at the front was one Jon could identify, a snarling wolf head.

"So, what do we do?" Jon asked his Umber friend.

"Well, we could sit and watch this happen, but I don't think either of us want that. We could go down and try to take them all on, but it's unlikely we'd both live that."

"Well, fuck it. Tired of this shit anyway." Jon stood up, prompting the Smalljon to do the same, and the young Stark began his walk down the slope, with a growing Ghost at his heels and a Giant without chains at his side.

As they entered the village, strolling through the center, Skagosi men stopped their pillaging to stare at the two young men as they walked through the chaos that was combat and murder. Oddly enough, no man attacked the duo, opting to allow them to continue towards the beach where the majority of the raiding party awaited.

Upon the arrival of both Jon's and Ghost on the beach, the talking and festivities of the Skagosi ceased, and one man, not the largest out of everybody but far from the smallest, turned towards them along with all other men. This man, who stood as a leader would, wore plate armor, beautifully crafted with engraved runes, and fur over it. On his head sat a helm in the form of a snarling direwolf, the same as the head on the ship. The plate was a dark and smoky gray, and the helm much the same, though the mouth area was fairly open and covered in blood. The rest of the group stood in furs and random pieces of armor or mail. In their hands were assorted weapons, all covered in blood, in the wolf man's hands were an axe and round shield with a device. A green lobster on a white field, it's claws grasping a black harpoon.

"Greetings."

The man in plate snorted. "What the fuck do you two think you're doin'?"

"Well, we were lookin' for the captain here."

"I'm the captain. I'm Jakor Magnar."

"Of the House Magnar?"

"Aye, I'm the last one. Who you be?"

"Good. I'm Jon Stark, and these are my friends Jon Umber and Ghost. We are looking to go to Skagos." The men stood still for a moment before erupting into laughter.

"You hear that boys? Starks have gotten dumber than ever. Umbers too. You know where this helm is from boy? My ancestor Brunalf took it off the body of Barthogan Stark when he killed him a hundred years ago. I thought it fitting I'd begin to ravage Stark lands with it. Now, it's even more fitting I get to kill a Stark with it."

"You'll try." The words had flown out of Jon's mouth before he had had a chance to check himself, and the anger and excitement in Jakor's eyes said everything Jon needed to know. Jon quickly drew Longclaw from his back and ducked under Jakor's side swipe, only to be met with Jakor's shield smashing into his forehead, planting Jon on his ass, which he turned into a backwards roll, dodging another strike, and putting him on his feet in a crouching position.

Jon looked down and saw a round shield that a raider must have left lying around. Sliding his hand through the strap, the Stark rose and advanced toward the waiting Magnar. Throwing a swing at Jakor from Jakor's left, Jakor caught the weak swipe with the hook of his axe, smirking at his opponent, and being caught off guard when Jon smiled back. Jon bashed with his shield, hitting the Magnar's axe and fingers, loosening the grip on the axe and pushing both the axe and Longclaw back towards Jakor. While Jakor was concentrated on keeping the blade from puncturing his neck, Jon jumped up and kicked outward, planting both feet into the chest of the larger man and throwing him backwards while putting Jon on the ground. Jon jumped up, charging forward and swiping at Jakor from up top, being met with a shield and stepping to the side to avoid an upward thrust by the raider. Jon came again with a diagonal thrust towards his right hip from his left shoulder, once more being met with Jakor's shield. Jakor regained his footing and Jon pushed him backwards, throwing everything he had at a speed Jakor wasn't able to keep up with. A thrust here, barely missed, a backhanded swing here that would have decapitated the captain had he not ducked just in time. Finally, Jon threw a weak enough uppercut with his blade that dug into Jakor's shield. Before he could retract his sword, his opponent's hand shot out, dropping his axe in order to gain speed and allowing the war axe to rest on the cord attached to his arm and the axe's pommel.

Jakor grabbed Jon's wrist, and when Jon looked at him, Jakor threw a headbutt, connecting with Jon's nose and busting it open, allowing the blood to flow freely. The headbutt knocked Jon back, and Jakor's big boot connecting with Jon's chest sent him sprawling backwards, rolling twice before stopping, sitting on his ass, dazed. Jon regained his bearing, and looked to find Longclaw still in Jakor's shield which he had discarded now as he marched towards the young Stark. Jon had no time to draw the other longsword on his back before the axe came flying towards him. Jon barely had time to dodge, switching his shield to his dominant, right hand and swinging into a low crouch. He dodged a thrust, looking for an opening. Jumping out of the way of another swing, Jon saw his chance, and he jumped in towards his legs, only to be caught with a knee and to hit the ground.

"A grand fight, little wolf. You fight like a Skagosi. But, it was not enough," with that being said, he drew his dagger and plunged downward, only for the Starks head to move out of the way and his dagger to be driven into the solidly packed Northern dirt. Next, Jon's knee slammed full force into the tendon in the back of Jakor's ankle and foot, causing him to stand up, howling. Getting his feet beneath him, Jon quickly gathered himself into a squat before jumping upwards, full force, driving the edge the shield into the Magnar's jaw, breaking it and silencing it, while also knocking him to the ground and throwing the direwolf helm off his head. When he hit the ground, Jon saw brown hair and dark, black eyes before he was straddling the raider's chest, knees on the larger man's biceps to keep his arms down. Then, Jon was swinging.

As Jon hit the man, right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand, he slowed down, until he abruptly stopped, looking at the man and catching his breath, noticing the blood covered face, and identifying his opening. Throwing a few more wild shots, Jon knocked all resistance down the drain before pushing the broken jaw upwards and exposing the Magnar's neck as said man moaned. Jon slid his knees off his biceps and lurched forward, sinking his teeth into the exposed, blood covered throat of his opposition. Jon pushed his teeth as far in as he could, before bringing his teeth together as much as he could and ripping upward, tearing the windpipe out of the quickly dying warrior beneath him. Jon leaned back, exposing his blood soaked face and mouth to the night sky, swallowing the blood in his mouth before howling, letting loose all the remaining energy in one last primal scream.

Standing up, Jon noticed that Jakor had finally died, and that the raiders were grabbing their swords and axes. He snarled, and got into his stance, drawing the second sword from his back and holding it with both hands. The Smalljon did likewise with his sword and Lucion's while Ghost bared his teeth. To their surprise, the men began to kneel, placing their weapons at their feet, bowing their heads.

"What the fuck?"

"While all Northerners are born with the blood of the First Men, some are born with more of the Wolfsblood than others. These men are taught to keep the oldest of ways, and that is how it is on Skagos. You were born on the mainland, but in you, we see Skagosi. We wish to take you with us, as a guest if you must, but as our captain, if you will," An older looking, large, though not so large as Smalljon, middle aged, wise man spoke from his knees, a battleaxe at his knees.

Stark and Umber shared a look, and after the Smalljon shrugged, Jon began to walk towards Longclaw, retrieving it from the shield and looking down at the direwolf helm at his feet. He bent over, grabbing it, and stood up. Making a decision as he stared into the hollow eyes of the helm, he turned towards the group of about fifty something raiders and chuckled, a laugh so much like that of one of the voices he hears in his head, and spoke aloud.

"Aye. Boys, finish what you were doing here, and then grab what you can. We make our way to Skagos immediately."

The group of men cheered, rising from their knees and charging back into the fray that was the settlement, restarting the screams of terror from the citizens and the screams of war from the Skagosi. As they rushed in, Umber came to stand by Jon, looking at the burning village.

"Jon?"

"Aye, Jon?"

"I think I'm beginning to like this." Jon turned toward his larger friend, and gave him a long look, contemplating. "Now come on, help me get this armor off Jakor, He's got to be damn heavy."

And so, a savage was born, in Jon Stark.

 **So? Like it, don't like it? Eh, I don't really care. Favorite, follow, critique, review n whatnot.**


	7. Chapter 7: Home Sweet Home

Disclaimer: Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…

 **A.N. Uh huh, you thought I couldn't do it. Thought I wouldn't do it. What now bitch? Brace yourself, bitch, Winter may be comin', but my foot is comin' towards yo ass. *Clear throat. Mmm anyway. Glad we got that outta the way. Get rekt son. Now, SkepticalSteven, bruh, don't worry, I might do an alternate version of this that's with your ideas. Collab homie. However, dog, you gotta get an actual account so I can reply directly instead of us havin' to wait 'till another chapter for the conversation to further itself. I urge all my guest readers to get an account so that I can reply to your reviews directly instead of doin' it in A.N.s. Seriously homies, takes like five minutes at most, no cost or nothin', it's pretty dope too. Tells you every time I put out a new chapter, so y'all can get doses of yo favorite author quicker! Do that shit, son! Alright, so, the plate armor Jon got off Jakor looks like the Steel Plate Armor from Skyrim, but more dark, smoky gray like the Nordic Carved Armor, and the direwolf helm, well, just look it up, it's a leather one you can find on *shiver, Pinterest. His gauntlets/bracers are like the steel Imperial ones in Skyrim, but with runes and wolf designs instead of the dragon logo. And, for Kingshouse, imagine Sovngarde from Skyrim, but slightly smaller, and with wood doors, a normal sky, and the bridge is smaller, though it's still made out of bone and wood. And, of course, it's in the mountains.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 7: Home Sweet Home**

The smell in the air was salt and ice as the _Seawolf,_ the raider longship, black of wood, red of deck, and dark of sails with a wolf prow, approached the stony, southwestern shore of Skagos, South and East of Driftwood Hall, but West and North of Deepdown, the Southern most hall on Skagos. The grunts, growls, and laughter of his new crew garnered Jon's attention momentarily, before movement on the coast caught his attention. Some women and some children, along with a few men, stood along the beach, children playing and others watching the ship approach, waiting patiently for it's arrival. The second eldest son of Eddard Stark wondered if Jakor had anybody waiting on that beach for him. Of course, Jakor had said he was the last of House Magnar, so that meant there was no true family, but perhaps there was friends, or a woman? Guilt crept into Jon's head before being shaken clear.

Jon remembered what Skulgarth Sap-Veins had said. Skulgarth was the large man from the night before, who had spoken to Jon from his knees. Sap-Veins was a name that was given to all like him, a nickname for a title really, all the Sagart, which were the closest things the Old Gods had to priests. They served like Godswood witches, praying at the trees, taking special brews and receiving visions, as well as traveling with warriors as warriors, blessing the other Skagosi men before fighting, in order to ensure they were right with the Old Gods. It was said that in a world with neither weirwoods nor battle, the brothers of the Sap-Veins would drink themselves to death.

They were wise men, and studied the Old Ways, maintaining tradition, and Skulgarth, as the Sagart for the _Seawolf,_ had told Jon, while the rest of the crew built a hasty pyre for Jakor, that Jon needn't feel any remorse for the fight. The Old Gods loved warriors, and smiled upon death by combat. Therefore, Jon had given Jakor the best death that he could, a violent one. While combat and war were waged against the weak and disrespected, it was also a sign of great respect to your brother warrior to grant him a death by your blade. Throughout all of history, in times that the Stoneborn, a name for the Skagosi, were without a great cause or great guidance, men who were more warrior than the rest, who were lost in a world without war, would meet in valleys or plains in the mountains in Skagos, and in front of the weirwood trees, they would do battle, putting their beloved brothers of the blade to rest. As a sign of great respect, the survivors would burn the fallen on great pyres of oak and ebony, and for kings, weirwood and ebony. They never ate their fallen brothers, no matter who it had been that had slain them, save for one piece. If one warrior had killed another, who died valiantly, the remaining man would take but one bite of the others heart before placing it back in the chest and burning it with the mind and body. Jon could still taste Jakor's heart.

The _Seawolf_ was beginning to hit ground now, as the master sailor Skagosi beached the great ship, which was under-manned. The _Seawolf_ was large enough to hold seventy-five to eighty men, but held only fifty-nine at the moment. Not including the Smalljon and Jon himself, that is. Jon was broken from his reveries on the conversation he had held last night while at the oars with the Smalljon and Skulgarth by Ghost nudging his ankle, prompting him to look up and watch as his men jumped off the ship, roaring laughter and greetings at their friends and families on the shore. While normally a raiding party returning shouldn't have been awaited with such nervousness and curiosity, it had been the first one in a hundred years, and was being celebrated. The new Captain vaulted over the side of the longship, almost crumpling under the weight of his new armor and helm, but remaining on his feet, stepping out of the shallow water and thick, wet sand, on to the more solidly packed, dark sand above the tide, toward the party of raiders and families. Jon removed the direwolf helm and felt the eyes of most people there on his face, and Jon was reminded that he had opted not to wash his face of Jakor's blood, opting to leave it until the next time he bathed.

When the eyes trailed down to look at the plate armor, and the light layer of black furs underneath as well as the Direwolf helm, several women gasped, and several children looked confused.

"Da, why is that man wearing Jakor's armor?" One boy asked a large, broad, homely man whose face seemed to permanently smile. Odaki was his name, if Jon remembered correctly.

"Because he killed Jakor, and he's our new captain, young one," At this statement, several of the men on the beach looked him up and down, some seeming satisfied enough, others slightly disappointed. Jon couldn't care less how they felt, as they weren't his men. Skulgarth came up beside Jon and placed his hand on Jon's shoulder, a small, barely noticeable small on his mouth.

"Aye, this is Jon Stark. The larger one is the one they call the Smalljon Umber."

"Don't seem very small to me," One young, buxom lass in skimpy furs stated, eyeing the Umber appreciatively.

"My father's bigger, though only for now," The Smalljon smirked at the girl, seemingly enjoying his time on Skagos already.

"Skulgarth, why have we stopped here this long? Where are we going?" Jon was anxious inwardly, after all, he was on an island covered in cannibalistic raiders, and was a son of the very family that had denied them both the sea and their freedom. True, they followed the Old Ways, as he hoped to do as well, but, men are unpredictable creatures.

"Well, Captain Stark, the men are to gather several men here, then travel to the port on the southern side of the island to trade, if good deals await, along with the ship. We, preferably half a dozen of us, shall continue North and East, through the mountains. Along the way, we will meet with several tribes, and bring with us greetings of good will on our way to your new home, Kingshouse." At Jon's look of confusion, Skulgarth sighed and explained, "By the Old Way, conquest or combat are just as much a right to rule and succession as birth. You killed Jakor, who had no heirs. You are the Lord of Kingshouse now."

Jon wished he could say he was surprised, but somehow this seemed so very Skagosi, and he couldn't find it in himself to believe this was something out of the question. Especially since he HAD killed a black brother and fled, somehow he felt that Winterfell would not welcome him back as it would have before, whether the family wanted to or not. The Stark mulled over his thoughts, snapping him out of his trance and looking at the Wise Man.

"Oh, right. Smalljon, Skulgarth, Odaki, Darragh and Lachtín will come with me to Kingshouse, the rest of you, you know what to do," Jon turned to Skulgarth and grinned, "Lead the way, Wise Man."

So, Skulgarth set off towards the mountains in the distance, five men and a direwolf in tow.

- **Linebreak** -

Catelyn's hands hurt, but her heart hurt more. Bran had woken up, and that had brought her such joy, the only way her day could have realistically gotten better is if Jon showed up, entirely likely since Benjen had sent back a letter saying the boy had yet to show up. Then, while she waited and worried, another raven had arrived, telling a tale of a dead black brother with a gaping sword wound and a girl hanging limp from the rafters of a stable. Lord Greatjon Umber would be on his way to Winterfell to tell the full story. He would arrive any day now, and it was unlikely that Jon would, no matter how much Lady Stark wished that he would. Still, the letter had made no mention of her adopted son, and she knew not whether that was a blessing or a curse. For the time being, Catelyn would wait, spin her prayer wheel, and forget about the two bodies in Last Hearth. Then, out of nowhere, the gates were being opened, and Umber men bearing the Giant in Broken Chains, came pouring into the courtyard. It seemed Catelyn would get some answers.

- **Linebreak** -

Several men and a boy sat around a table, as well as Catelyn herself. There was Maester Luwin, quiet and attentive, Ser Rodrik, gruff and homely, her son Robb who still seemed so much the boy at a table with such men, and Greatjon Umber, the great, roaring Giant of Last Hearth, still so much larger than even the biggest of men in the room. All were silent, and Catelyn couldn't help but think that if Ned was here, none of this would be happening.

"Well, my Lord Umber." That was Robb, straight to the point.

"Aye, boy." There was the Greatjon, short and dismissive of the green boy in front of him. Ser Rodrik's face tightened, as did Robb's, but they had no way to argue with the assertion, true as it was.

"Would you mind telling us what happened with my brother? My mother would like to know what trouble has befallen her son."

The Greatjon snorted before starting his short tale, "He showed up, not long ago, with a direwolf and a tied up wildling girl following him. Explained his story, apparently on his way North he had come across the late Lord Jeor Mormont and some black brothers. Wildlings fell upon them, and after joining the fight, your brother had captured the girl. Getting orders, and a Valyrian Steel sword from Lord Commander Mormont, he started taking the girl South, and came East to Last Hearth. Relayed this tale, met a black brother who had been through similar circumstances in our hall, and we had a feast. Drank ourselves to sleep. When we woke up, the boy was gone with his direwolf and my eldest son, and the black brother, Lucion Lannister, was dead with his cock out, and the bitch was half naked and hanging from a beam. My uncle Mors is still out searching for them while my uncle Hothor is taking care of Last Hearth."

He made no direct accusations as to who had done what, but that he was laying these deaths at Jon's door was as clear as the Summer sky to everybody in the room.

"Are you saying my son killed these two, Lord Umber?" Catelyn's voice was icy enough that even she ordinarily would have shivered, but her rage was too great to allow her such feelings. Robb and Ser Rodrik seemed to almost shiver in her stead. Luwin simply watched, and the Greatjon's face gave nothing away, though his eyes became clouded with an odd mixture of amusement and anger.

"Well, it wasn't my son, I can tell you that," Catelyn stood up and the Greatjon did the same, both glaring at each other.

"Sit down, both of you! Gods so help me," Robb started before being interrupted.

"No, boy, I'll be leaving. I've come here to state a report to Ned's son, and show my respect for Ned by doing it in person, and that's the end of it," The Greatjon grabbed his greatsword leaning against the table and charged towards the door. Before he could get there, Robb's voice stopped him.

"Wait, Lord Umber. Do you have any clue as to where Jon is, any leads?

The Greatjon paused, before conceding, "Northeast, towards Skagos," and then stormed out to the courtyard.

Catelyn inwardly cursed. How could Jon be so stupid as to go towards Skagos? There was no place more dangerous for him in the North than Skagos. Ned had repaired relations with every mountain tribe, every lord, and every knight in the North, all except for the Skagosi. Skagos could not be reasoned with, continuing the oldest of the Old Ways, traditions even the rest of the North frowned upon. Right by might, glory by violent death, cannibalism, funeral pyres, and even the First Night, it's rumored. All things the Starks have denied them for hundreds of years, along with their independence and the sea. Rage and worry flowed through Catelyn. Worry for Jon, and rage for the Skags if they dared to harm her second eldest child. Exhaustion closely followed the burst of anger, and Lady Stark excused herself to her bedroom, where she promptly passed out.

- **Linebreak** -

Shouting and running awoke Catelyn from her slumber, darkness still encasing the stronghold of Winterfell. Rising from her position on her back, the former Tully quickly gathered her feet under her and ran out of her room, storming down the staircase in the same direction others were going, hearing a commotion coming from that general area.

When Cat reached the bottom of the stairs, she spotted her son and Ser Rodrik dragging into the great hall a boy, unlikely much older than her Bran. Servants pulled out a horse that stood in the entryway to the hall, and it was safe to say that the steed seemed exhausted, looking even more tired than Cat felt. The boy was shivering and glancing everywhere, looking in all the corners of the room and seeming scared out of his wits. Robb and Rodrik lifted him on to the edge of a table, and a servant placed a thick blanket around his shoulders. Catelyn approached, just as Maester Luwin arrived, and heard her son questioning the child.

"What is your name, where are you from?" Robb was hushed by the maester as Rodrik herded everyone out of the hall. Maester Luwin crushed together dried herbs in his hands and held them under the boy's nose, jolting him out of his stupor. Now, Robb was on him, albeit, slower and more soothing than before.

"Hello, I'm Robb Stark, and this is Winterfell, you're safe here," at this, the boy began to sob. "Hey, you're alright, just tell us some things, okay?" When the boy nodded, Robb continued, "What is your name?"

"I'm Mikal m'lord." The boy's voice was shaky, but audible enough.

"Good. Now, where are you from?" The boy became visibly paler, but answered nonetheless.

"White Dawn Settlement, m'lord," at Robb's look of confusion, the boy further specified, "On the coast of the Bay of Seals, m'lord."

Robb gained a look of hope and quickly questioned the boy, "Did you see a young man, my age, with black hair and gray eyes, on the way here? He'd be with probably another, larger boy, and a white wolf?"

The question visibly shook the boy, and he was barely able to answer. "Aye, m'lord, I saw them outside the settlement."

Robb was excited and turned towards his mother, only for the boy to speak again, "But, I don't think they're there anymore, m'lord."

"What do you mean?" It was Cat asking the question now. The boy paused, trying to find the words, before answering the best he could.

"Well, m'lady, it was the Skags raided the settlement, I think, least that's what my pa told me. A big black ship and a bunch of big, hairy men in furs came and started killing people. My pa made me get on the horse and told me to go to the Dreadfort, or Last Hearth, or Winterfell, and tell everybody what happened. Came this way, told people along the way and they fed me and sent me on my way. But, I saw this person you were asking about, and the big one and the wolf, almost to the ridge above the settlement when I was leaving."

Robb went silent, and stared off into space, while Luwin ushered Mikal towards a room, tears running down the boy's face, most likely thinking of his home and family. Catelyn stared at the spot where the boy was, before it all came crashing on to her and her legs gave out. She felt Robb's arms around her, and felt him lift her up.

"Shh Mother, it's alright, I'll go, I'll find him," Robb soothed. Somehow, Catelyn couldn't bring herself to believe they would find him alive.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon's hair blew back with the wind as they mounted the final ridge before his new home, Kingshouse. The party had taken several days longer than it should have, choosing rather to go on foot than to take a horse, allowing the young Stark and Umber to get used to the climate, similar to the rest of the North, thick and cold. However, in Skagos, you could always smell the salt of the sea, and though the Bay of Seals was and the Shivering Sea were warmer than the sea West of the North, it was still extremely cold, without it being high up in the mountains, allowing the altitude to make it colder than either of the young men had ever experienced in a time that was not Winter. Jon thought that it was no wonder the Skagosi were a harder people than others, considering that Winter for them must have been even worse than it was for almost anybody else South of the Wall. Cold, cold misery. Jon was juddered from his thoughts when his friend Jon whistled, and Stark looked forward.

Kingshouse lay in front of them, tall and stoic. A waterfall was behind it, deep and wide streams surrounding Jon's new home. Two smaller and flat roofs with their ends stuck up both led up to the highest part of the hall, which shit up and above taking on several designs. The doors were heavy ebony, oak, and weirwood. The twilit sky played beautifully on the masterpiece of architecture. What impressed him just as much as the place itself though, was the bridge, covered in guards at specific intervals and in the tower. Unlike other loose rope bridges, this bridge was all one, and solid. It was roughly sixty feet long, and was made of bone and wood. The mainframe was a giant rib-cage, enormous, curving up and around where one would walk. In between all the ribs was some dark brown wood, layered thickly, but with slots in each piece in between the ribs, presumably for archers to shoot attackers across the streams on the opposite shores.. Above the structure, in the middle, was a good sized tower, made of the same wood in between all the ribs, it's support posts almost to the edge of the bridge, which was wide enough to hold men five or six across. Jon imagined that an archer like Lachtín would have a heyday on this bridge, if battle were to show up. As they stepped on to the bridge, Jon admired the structure, sliding his hand across some of the wood in the wall.

"Cumaru, it's called in the isles we found it on. We call it stream-wood," Skulgarth abruptly spoke from next to Jon, having noticed his amazement and stepped forward to give insight, "It flows smoothly and won't catch fire, refuses to burn away. Not the strongest wood, but impenetrable when layered thickly. You won't notice it, but it is used in the walls of the keep as well as the barracks."

"It's magnificent. Where did this skeleton come from?"Skulgarth smiled in understanding before replying.

"Aye, wondrous, isn't it? Long ago, before Skagos had a leader, a dragon ruled this island. Aodhfin, a word in the Old Tongue meaning White Fire. He was said to be a terrible sight, and ruled with pure terror, feasting on all that he could. It scared the Skagosi so much that they built their homes in the ground, and built passages in the mountains, passages which we are currently rediscovering. This is where Aodhfin made his home. Many had attempted to slay the beast, but none could, until one day, a man by the name of Liam, meaning Unwavering Savior, returned from his travels to the place of his birth. He brought with him many treasures, among them a shield and sword, both of Valyrian Steel. He did battle with Aodhfin, and so hot were his fires that he melted the shield on Liam's arm. He discarded it, and pretended to fall dead in to the waters of this stream, called Emer, meaning Swift. As the waters ran over him, he held his breath, and the steam made from the hot shield in the water, as well as the dirt that he had kicked up and the blood he had bled, made it impossible for the dragon to find him. He waited, patiently, until the dragon's head was near him, but turned a different way, and Liam jumped from the waters, driving his blade as hard as he could\ into the beasts skull through the temple."

Jon was about to speak up when he saw, in front of them, after the bridge and just past the opening to the courtyard, there laid the head of Aodhfin. It's teeth were large, befitting the size of the skull, and they still seemed sharp, somehow. It's eyes were hollow, but Jon could imagine how indescribable they would have been when the dragon still lived. The skull was bleached white, huge, and sticking out of the right temple was a greatsword, with a regular grip, a bone pommel, and words scrawled across the blade. _Marf_ _óir Drag_ _ún._

"It means Dragon Slayer. That is how Liam was named Magnar, which means Lord. He was Lord, and when other lords arose in Driftwood Hall and Deepdown, he beat them in combat to become King of Skagos. This is one of the most important parts of Skagosi history, Jon Stark, and it is one of two reasons as to why it is called Kingshouse."

"What's the other?"

"Come into the hall and you shall see." Skulgarth walked forward, pushing one of the doors open and entering. The rest followed.

Upon entering the hall, it seemed no more than a regular hall. A huge fire-pit in the middle, currently unlit, over a dozen long, ironwood tables, and a raised dais. On the raised dais, however, was a different story.

A table lay to the side, not in use, but mobile should the need for a feast arise. A throne sat in the middle of the platform, the most beautiful chair Jon had ever seen. The middle of the back seemed to be made from bone, possibly a piece of Aodhfin, but the rest was masterfully crafted around it, and out of weirwood. Engraved in the chair were a few runes. On the wall behind the throne were engravings, telling the tales of the history of Skagos, starting from top and left, going right, and then starting a new row below it. The stories went barely higher than the throne, and above it, covering the walls were banners. The largest, in the middle, ending right above the drawings right above the throne, and starting over halfway up the wall, was the same one on Jakor's shield. The Magnar banner. Everywhere else though, all over that wall, save a few spots, were banners of other houses, too many to be allies. There was the Stark banner, the Umber banner, the Bolton banner, a pale brown driftwood tree on green which would be House Stane of Driftwood Hall, and red flames on a black field which is House Crowl of Deepdown. Then there were others, the Baratheon banner, the Lannister banner, even a Targaryen banner. Others that Jon couldn't name, some he was sure didn't even exist in Westeros, whether they were foreign or long dead, such as the Greystark banner which he noticed.

"The banners are the banners of every house we have fought, all of which we have beat at least once in battle. Most more than once," Skulgarth explained to Jon.

As they neared the throne, Jon picked out a detail he had been too focused to notice. On seven metal-supported weirwood spears, each six and a half feet long, were skulls, well preserved and dark. On each skull was a crown, and on top of the skull resting right behind the throne, the crown was one Jon recognized from lore, an open bronze circlet in the shape of nine longswords, and covered with runes. The crown of the Stark Kings in the North.

"This is the other reason it is known as Kingshouse. Each skull represents a ruler we have killed, a crown we have taken. We kept them after we pledged allegiance to the Starks who bent the knee to the Targaryens, to show that our swords and axes, whether they be in peace or fealty, come at a cost. There is the Stark crown, the dragon crown we took from Visenya Targaryen after we killed her and her beast Vhagar when they came to force us to bow. A crown we took from the Greyjoys who came from our bloodline, and were meant to settle the Iron Islands as an extension of Skagos. They declared they were superior, and claimed independence. We appeared and showed them true dominance. Our mistake was showing mercy. There is the last crown of the Umber kings, and the last crown of the Boltons as well. At one end is the Greystark crown, which we took as payment after we fought and beat them on the Starks orders. We destroyed them, whereas the Starks allowed the Boltons to live. The other end is the Baratheon crown, which we took from the second Storm King when we smashed him and his against the walls of Storm's End."

Jon was at a loss for words. First impressions meant a lot, and the first impression given by Kingshouse was more than enough. Home sweet home.


	8. Chapter 8: The Difference?

Disclaimer: Ehhhhh you know.

 **A.N. I am on a roll mofuckas. Thank God for Spring Break, am I right? When imagining the hair later on, imagine the dreadlock mohawk Orcs can have in Skyrim. And, to make it clear, everything about the names and language and such of Skagos are a mix of Irish Gaelic, or Gaeilge, and the Old Tongue, or what I can find of it. Now, to answer some guest reviews.**

 **To SkepticalSteven: You are by far one of my favorite readers. And almost all that you imagine, shall come true. But, as the Ironborn have shown, the raiders are never stuck to one general area. Shit, is going, down.**

 **To DD: I don't know if you're supposed to be a cup size or the beanie boy from Ed, Edd, and Eddy, but thank you, my dear troll, nonetheless. It's always entertainin' to hear somebody give their opinion on the way I talk. XD**

 **To Any Other Guests: See, this could be us, but y'all playin'. Out here slackin' n shit. Review mofuckas.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 8: The Difference? A Reality Check… And a Sword**

The white and green Magnar banner fluttered, catching wind and floating somewhat gracefully, as Arik and Darragh helped several other Skagosi men from Kingshouse take it down, allowing all other banners to remain unmolested. The ceremony that would be used to proclaim Jon the new Lord of Kingshouse was only a few hours from now, and fifty women were hard at work on his new banner. Kira, Arik's twin sister, the only woman on the crew of the _Seawolf_ , and the only archer Jon had ever seen that was as accurate as Theon or Lachtín, was sat by the fifty women, laughing at her brother as he struggled to remove the banner that had fallen on him. Jon smiled a small smile, having found comfort in his newest crew members, before turning to admire the banner, a smoky gray field, with a black and white direwolf snarling with red eyes and blood covering it's maw, that would only be raised if he passed the final test. Admittedly, Jon was already owed everything Jakor had due to right by conquest, but if you're to become the new lord of the most historically and spiritually significant place in all of Skagos, you couldn't simply undergo the same trials as everybody else did. Jon found comfort in the knowledge that even the Magnars have always had to do the same test when becoming the new lord.

The test, well, it was a rather unpleasant one at first, it seemed. The Ironborn had gotten their fascination with drowning men for spiritual purposes from somewhere after all. First, Jon would get on his knees in front of the cluster of weirwood trees that sat atop a mound in the middle of the Emer, not ten yards from the waterfall, right behind the great hall. Those weirwoods had been there since the dawn of time. After reciting the first half of the oath he had memorized, Jon would then have his dunked into this little pool in front of the greatest weirwood, the heart tree, and they would drown him. Jon would need to force himself not to struggle and kick, which was the hardest part, by far. Then, when he was on Death's door, they would pull his head out and revive him. They would grant him the ancestral warrior's hair style, cutting away the hair on his scalp from everywhere except a strip down the middle on the top and back. They then would twist that hair into rope-like pieces three abreast. Then, they would cut open a line straight down his back and paint runes on himself with his blood as he finished the oath, pledging himself wholly to the Old Gods and the Old Ways.

Then, he would spend five minutes praying, on his knees, at the heart tree while others watched. To signify the end of it, the priest who was closest to him, who would do everything else in the ceremony, Skulgarth, would place the crown of Skagos upon his head. It was a brutal looking thing, one of the teeth of Aodhfin sat in the middle, rising up higher than his forehead, with a blood red ruby placed in the middle, and the rest was an iron circlet engraved with the tales of Liam and his adventures all around it. He would rise, thank Skulgarth, greet the lords Crowl and Stane as brothers, and enter the hall where he would then reside on the Old Throne, which symbolized the Old Ways and it's precedence over all else, as his crew would put his banner upon the wall, above his head. Then, they would feast for not only their new lord, but, if was decided at the meeting of the lords the following morning, their new king.

Not the most outlandish ceremony in the world, Jon was sure, but definitely not the most "civilized," as some in the Seven Kingdoms would put it. That was something Jon had caught himself doing. After finding those who would fill his crew, growing his bonds, and being able to embrace the ways of Old, he had begun to separate himself from Westeros. He still felt a kinship with the North, as did all Skagosi, but he was filled with a certain disappointment in the mainland, for their ability to simply surrender the Old Ways to fit in with the South. While Skagos held no great ill will towards the North as it did for the Iron Islands because the changes had taken place over a very long time, whereas with the Ironborn it had been immediate, it still had happened and it needed to be reversed, desperately. They needed to finish the ceremony, and then the meeting, so Jon could head South with his new fourteen men, well, thirteen men and one woman. That would make seventy-five when including himself and the Smalljon, who was given the role of Warden of Kingshouse, which was a sort of castellan, Master-At-Arms, possible heir position in this society, when they met up with the rest of his crew on the Southern coast. From there, Jon's plan would begin.

Jon was broken from his musings and mulling by a bang as the doors slammed open and Skulgarth entered along with the Smalljon and the lords of Driftwood Hall and Deepdown, as well as their eldest sons, and two weirwood wives, or woods witches as they were commonly known in Westeros. All people in the hall stopped and turned to look at the newly arrived party as they came to an abrupt stop. Skulgarth nodded to Jon.

"It's time, my lord," Skulgarth stated, and Jon's face grew serious once more, nodding back to Skulgarth as he stood up and began towards the door in the far left corner of the hall, which led to the weirwoods, the party that had entered falling in step behind him.

The Great Grove, as it was commonly referred to, was the most beautiful thing Jon had ever witnessed. The sky that filtered through the red leaves was colored like a rainbow, the waters shining with different lights even as the sun was on it's way down, and the trees stood stoic, the thirteen of them white as Ghost. There, in the middle and front, nearest Jon aside from the two that stood on the sides of the entryway to the grove, was the largest weirwood Jon had ever seen. It was taller than the others, and thicker too. It is said that is due to Liam the First having died under this tree, passing away at the age of fifty. It was a cold, cold winter, the coldest ever, and he came out to the grove and sat under the heart tree with his harpoon, where he closed his eyes for the last time. When Winter was finished, his sons came out to reclaim his body so that it may be burnt on the ground where he did battle with his greatest foe, Aodhfin. However, when they arrived, his body was nowhere to be found, only his harpoon. According to Skulgarth, failing to retrieve Liam and give him the proper rites he more than deserved was the greatest failure of the Skagosi, and the first thing any Sagart would change, if he could change anything.

Jon realized that he was now in front of the pool made by the Emer, not ten feet from Liam's Weirwood, and dropped to his knees, sinking into the soft, cool, mossy ground, noticing that even though it was cool in the grove, it felt warmer than anywhere else on Skagos. Jon began his recitation.

"I, Jon Stark, first of my house, the Starks of Skagos, do hereby declare myself a true and faithful servant, one with the Stoneborn. I shall make no brother of mine wait for my aid, just as it has been taught that no man should wait for war, and Death waits for no man. I promise myself to the Gods, the true Gods, and I denounce the false Gods of any other religion, and pledge my life to die for the Gods, for their cause, and for Skagos. I welcome war and death, just as I welcome the Gods and my own blood. May they find me true."

Jon felt Skulgarth's huge hand on the back of his skull, and allowed himself to be pushed down into the water's of the pool, crossing his arms across his chest, showing faith in Skulgarth and the Gods. He pushed his legs into the ground, so that he may keep himself from struggling. In Jon's head, a flicker of panic popped up before being shot down. No, this was what Jon wanted. This was what Jon FELT. The Old Ways called to him, as carpentry calls to a born carpenter, or fishing to a fisherman. Jon relaxed his jaw, allowing the water to flow into him, refusing to fight against the liquid, knowing full well that the more he fought to keep his breath, the more he would kick and struggle. Jon accepted his fate, and he accepted death, feeling every muscle in his body relax, embracing the cold, loving sensation that was lifelessness.

The next thing Jon knew, he was sitting up on his knees, staring at Liam's tree as a knife was at his scalp and water ran from his maw, down his tunic. Before he knew it, he felt the cold, sharp air on his head save for a line down the middle, previously untouched, now being twisted into rope-like spirals, tight but thick. They made no effort to shave the dark stubble along his jaw and lips. Then, it was done, and Skulgarth was cutting off his tunic. Jon started up again.

"I pledge my back, my feet, my fists," the knife was over his spine, digging deep, not too deep, "I pledge my head, my heart, my soul," it was all the down at his waist, blood spilling out, washing his back in crimson liquid, "I pledge my sword and shield, my happiness, my lust and love," hands were in the blood, dipping fingers in, then drawing runes, what Jon imagined were beautiful circular designs, all along his dominant side, his top right back, his right shoulder, "I pledge my honor which is based off of loyalty, fearlessness, and battle prowess," the blood was being drawn on his right bicep, now his right ribs, his right abdomen. "I pledge my life, which I live for Skagos and the Gods, and I pledge my Death," the red runes were over his right pectoral, and now, all over the right side of his face, along his jaw, on his cheek, around his eye, and on his forehead, chin, and upper lip.

Skulgarth's voice spoke out right above Jon, prompting the young warrior to rise, "Now, you may pray."

Jon stepped in and out of the pool, feeling blood drip off him and into it, though it was obvious the bleeding had almost completely stopped. He took his several steps forward, and he once more dropped to his knees before the Great Heart Tree, which men used to pilgrimage to from all across the North. He bowed his head, and he prayed.

 _Dear Gods, Lords and Ladies of the Great Beyond, Deciders of Fate, and Bringer of Salvation and Destruction. I was not born Skagosi, I was not born as enthusiastic a supporter of you as I am now, I have not done for these lands half of what any former or current lords have done, but I beg of you. Give me Liam's will, give me Seamus's strength, and give me the true Stark honor. Please, allow me the power to do your bidding, for the good of your people, for the good of Skagos and the North._

Jon had not known it had been five minutes until he felt the weight on his head and realized Skulgarth was placing the crown on his brow.

"Rise, Jon Stark, Captain of the _Seawolf_ , Lord of Kingshouse, High-Lord of Skagos, defender of the Weirwoods, Sword of Winter, King of War and King of the Bloody Isle," and so Jon rose, turning and clasping hands with Skulgarth.

"Brother Sap-Veins," Jon smirked, and Skulgarth smiled back before urging him on towards the others, "Thank you, my ladies of the Weirwoods," he bowed to the Weirwood Wives, both fairly young, before turning towards the Smalljon.

"You look different," The Smalljon spoke, looking Jon up and down.

"Aye, I feel different," Jon answered as they clasped hands. At last, he turned towards the other lords of Skagos, and clasped hands with Lord Finín Stane and then his son Ultán, who were both fairly amiable towards Jon, having decided that if the Gods deemed Jon fit for the office, they had no right to be angry about it. Loch Crowl was like-minded, though his father, Lord Daigh Crowl was somewhat unbelieving in Jon's ability, considering Jon was still a green-boy. Jon couldn't argue with his suspicions much. So, he clasped all their hands and greeted them all as brother, especially Ultán and Loch, who he had come to know somewhat, and like fairly over the past few days. As he began back towards the hall, the Stark of Skagos caught a glimpse of himself in the mostly clear waters of the pool, and realized just how true his Umber friend's words were. Whereas he used to look like regular old Jon, he now looked like something out of one of Old Nan's tales, a wild, cannibalistic, savage raider. He looked like the epitome of Skagosi ideology of War and Death. And he liked it.

Walking through the back doors in to the great hall, HIS hall, he spotted the entire garrison of Kingshouse, as well as the entourages of Stane and Crowl, seated at tables, waiting patiently and talking amongst themselves until they saw Jon enter. Almost at once, they all grew silent as the lords went to take their seats with their parties, and Jon walked towards the Old Throne, Skulgarth and Umber on either side of him. His newest fourteen crew members stood, raised on mobile ladders behind the throne and up against the wall, ready to hook on the new banner, a banner that looked so utterly Skagosi. Ghost sat next to Jon's throne, on the right side, Longclaw in it's scabbard up against the front of the right armrest, his direwolf helm on the left armrest, and his armor leaning against the outer corner of the left, front leg of the throne, breastplate, pauldrons, bracers, and greaves.

When Jon sat down, he noticed how solid, yet comfortable the sturdy chair was. It was more comfortable than the Iron Throne must be, though not comfortable enough to fall asleep in. When his back touched that of the chair, his cut touching the piece of Aodhfin's tailbone, the not completely dry blood on his back felt all the cooler and he stuck slightly to the chair. When looking closely at the chair, one would realize there's a red tint to the chair. Hundreds and hundreds of Kings had sat in this throne, every one of them giving it some blood, leaving some of himself for the next one to come.

Upon the rustling and clinking of the banner coming to a halt, and his fourteen crew members getting off the ladders and quickly removing them form the wall, they took a seat, and everybody looked at Jon. A serving girl came up and handed him a mug of Skagosi Ale, which could be tinted different tastes, but was definitely the most hurtful liquid Jon had ever drank. He had drank wine and ale before, but Skagosi Ale was stronger than anything else. His first drink had tasted like the Smalljon had beat in his mouth with an armored fist. He rose to his feet, his back making a sound when the sticky blood connecting himself and the chair was disconnected. The young Stark rose his mug.

"My lords, my brothers, sister," Jon nodded at Kira sideways, causing several chuckles from the boisterous Northmen. "Today is the beginning of a new dynasty, a new era for Skagos. An era that shall see the Gods replaced to their rightful and former glory, as well as the Old Ways being restored, all across the North, and all of Westeros. Drink brothers, celebrate, the future is yours!" The crowd of warriors exploded with cheers.

"For Skagos, for the King!" Jon smiled, downing his ale, forcing himself not to grimace, barely able to keep his composure, before dropping into his throne and having two seats brought over for the Smalljon who stood with his hand resting on his sword's pommel, and Skulgarth who had a hand on Jon's shoulder.

"Tell me, Jon, why did you follow me out of your home? Why did you follow me here?" Jon started, anxious to ask the question that had been on his mind for a long while. His oldest friend on Skagos shrugged.

"A taste for adventure. A lust for battle. I didn't want to end up a lord sitting in a hall, **watching** men kill other men in my name," Umber stated before sitting in his seat.

"Well, thank you my friend, I promise, you'll get to kill all the men you desire here," Jon stated, earning a chuckle from his friend, before they both turned towards the feast and smiled, eager to see what the future held.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon's head pounded as he sat in his throne and Stane and Crowl, as well as their sons, informed Jon on the state of their forces. So far, they had counted 5,000 fighting men, all together, and currently had 166 ships. In a years time, they'll have prepared another 3,000 men, though that is as large as a possible Skagos will allow, and they'll have 266 ships. A sizable force, enough to cause a dent in any army, without them being Skagosi killers, bred and raised to fight and kill and find enjoyment in it.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Lord Crowl began, "Are you our King, or just a lord? Are we free from your family's rule, or are we still slaves to you and your kin?"

"The North is our brother, all Northmen our kin," Jon explained, "However, the North has no right to rule the land that birthed them from some foreign land they settled upon. Skagos is the motherland, and is independent from all of the North. That is how the God's meant it to be, and so it shall be, so long as I live."

Crowl looked surprised for a moment, as did the Stanes, though a hint of respect, mostly covered up by glee, soon found it's way on to all of their faces. Just as Stane prepared to speak, a messenger ran through the doors, being pushed and herded by a few Skagosi warriors. When Jon saw the gray direwolf on his doublet, he told the men to leave the messenger be. When they left to return to their duties, Jon told the man to approach his throne.

"M'lord, I've arrived bearing a message from Robb Stark, acting Lord of Winterfell."

"Aye, I know who Robb Stark is."

"Well, m'lord, he told me to relay a message to the lord of Kingshouse. He says that the raid on White Dawn Settlement shall not go unpunished, and that he shall have his revenge for his brother Jon, and the young Umber who was with him."

"Where in the Hells did he get the idea that Jon and Jon are dead?" All the men who knew in the room smirked. The messenger seemed confused.

"What do you mean, are they not dead?"

"No, I am Jon Stark, this is Jon Umber here. You all are very, very mistaken. He will want evidence I suppose," the messenger nodded, so Jon called out for a burlap sack. When a servant had brought it to him, he stood, and reached up to grab the crown and skull above his throne, placing them in the sack and handing them to the messenger. "This is the crown of the Starks, and the skull of Theon the Hungry Wolf, who was hungry until he picked a fight with the Skagosi, and lost his skull and his crown for it. Return them to my brother, tell him I hope Bran is awake by now, that nobody should worry, for I'm fine, and that Theon the Squid can go hang."

The messenger looked surprised and then disgusted with the skull before leaving when Jon nodded at him. Jon turned towards the other men in the room.

"Now, where were we?"

- **Linebreak** -

The smell of the salt air invigorated Jon as they sailed South, already past the North and the Eyrie. The smallest of Flint's Fingers had fallen easily enough. Remembering the raid and the burning keep, plus driving a Valyrian Steel blade tip through the throat of some old man with a sword who said his name was Lothor Brune, Jon looked down at the Valyrian Steel aforementioned.

The weirwood spear was six and a half feet long, half a foot longer than Jon at fifteen years old. The white wood that made up the shaft was thickly laid, as thick as any other spear, but was lined, straight up and down, almost like a frame, with heavy iron. Jon had decided to take the spear with him after giving the skull of Theon and his crown back to the North, as sort of a gift from all of Skagos to whatever man tasted the kite-shaped blade on the end of the white shaft. He was rather enjoying the new weapon, though Jon would admit he wasn't too well-versed with the weapon, much preferring his longswords. However, a weapon like this was very rare, and he had no reason to disapprove of it.

Just as Jon was thinking on who he could go to in order to learn more of the spear, he spotted a large tower with a fire burning atop it. He smiled. _Sharp Point_. He turned backwards, facing away from it and motioned to Ultán and Loch in their respective longships, _Warwood_ and _Seaflame._ All three longships drifted even closer to the shore than usual, aiming to beach just out of sight of both Sharp Point and traffic from the Bay of Crabs. With Jon's seventy-five men, Ultán's thirty, and Loch's forty, they'd have 145 men, twenty five being archers and 120 being close range raiders. Even with Jon leaving twenty men to watch the ships, that will be one-hundred raiders and twenty five archers. If they timed it right, under the cover of darkness, they should have no problem dispatching House Bar Emmon and their forces. The attack on Baelish Keep couldn't have been better. Attacking such a small hold, all other lords on the Eastern coast probably thought it was a small force of raiders. Jon chuckled, thinking of his new House words, speaking them aloud.

"By Land And Sea, By Steel And Blood."

- **Linebreak** -

Darkness suited the raiders well, Jon thought. Many had taken to the ritualistic smearing of blood over the faces, and Jon was no different, smearing his in the form of a swirling rune around his right eye, reaching all the way down the side of his face. He had left his spear behind with Ghost on the ship, in order to win a bet he had wagered with Loch and Ultán based on how many men they would kill, not to mention how difficult it would be to bring them both up the wall. Most of the raiding party were already wearing dark colors, and most wore furs under and around their armor to keep it quiet. All one hundred men stood at the edge of the treeline on the slope overlooking the back wall of Sharp Point, and the twenty-five archers stood behind them, arrows notched, with rags ready to be lit by twenty-five of the men in front of them. The plan was very delicate, but if all went well, it'd be a sound victory.

Any moment, the clouds would cover the moon while the _Warwood_ sailed by with ten of those left to defend the ships in order to distract the watchers on the walls. The first wave of twenty-five raiders would quietly charge forward with grappling hooks, then the second wave, and the fourth wave would light the fire arrows before the third went, and they would fire as the third wave went, at and over the wall. Then, the fourth wave would quickly light another which the archers would fire, again, into the keep, and very carefully at the wall, as the first wave would be there to throw the grappling hooks and start climbing, just as the fourth wave left, followed closely by the archers. First wave would secure Western wall, the one they were climbing, and once second scaled the wall, first would go down into the town, spreading havoc, burning and killing as they went, once third got up the wall, they would fend off would be attackers until fourth was right at the top. Second and third would leave to take the Northern and Southern walls. Once the archers, fifth wave, were up, fourth wave would leave to head to the Eastern wall and the tower known as the Torch, which would both be under heavy fire, along with the Eastern side of Sharp Point, by the archers. This would allow first, essentially the vanguard, which included Jon himself to head for the actual keep in the Southwestern corner. Once the other walls were secure, along with the Torch, the other waves would regroup with the first at the keep, where the battle would hopefully have already been one.

Just as Jon was mulling over the plan he had come up with, he saw a shadow passing over the already darkened land and knew, when he looked up and saw the clouds, that the time was nigh.

"First!" Jon whispered loudly, prompting his wave to go with him, all moving at a fairly fast pace, just as they heard commotion up on far walls as they likely spotted the decoy. He was over a quarter of the distance there, and vaguely heard someone say second behind him. He continued to move, hoping against hope that the clouds would continue to be as thick as they looked to be. Before he knew it, he was over half way and the area was lit by a passing light as the flaming arrows flew, allowing both the guards and the raiders glimpses of each other. Then, he was at the wall, him and nine other men were throwing the grappling hooks. He was over halfway up the wall, all the other climbers a step behind the eager young wolf, when a shout was heard above them, only to be silenced by another volley of flaming arrows. All of a sudden, Jon was atop the wall, vaulting over it, stomping on a dying man's throat.

Jon looked up and saw one of the men who had been smart enough to dodge the arrows now charging at him. He quickly ducked under a wild swing and shot forward, putting his shoulder into the man's sternum as powerfully as possible, pushing him off the wall, towards the ground where he'd surely be crippled. Jon ripped the torch out of the strap on his side, holding it in his left hand and unsheathed Longclaw. Once Loch was at the top with the second, Jon lit his torch with the flames rolling off the dead body of a man who had been stupid enough to wear regular cloth to guard and not dodge flaming arrows, before charging down the stairs, joining the pandemonium.

Once at the bottom of the stairs a man rushed Jon. He swung sideways, and Jon parried it with the torch, ducking and spinning to his left to avoid the ashes flying, bringing Longclaw around until, it bit in to the man-at-arm's knee. When the man hit his knees, Jon threw his upward into the man's nose, shoving it up in to the man's brain, dispatching him. The Stark turned and saw two more men coming at him. The first, an older man, looked to be a knight, in full armor with a longsword and a kite shield. The second was younger, perhaps his squire. The knight threw a test jab at Jon, and he easily parried it, knowing it was a probe, no more. The squire, not as well-versed in the art of war as his mentor, threw a wild swing towards Jon's mid-section, before having to drop to the ground to avoid a counter-strike, only to catch Jon's boot with his teeth. The wolf-lad jumped back to avoid the knight's strike, before he could throw his own, the knight struck again, surprisingly quick for an older man. He danced around the older man, both clashing blades, before he threw a downward swing to trick the knight. However, an arm on his shoulder and back put Jon's weight into it, biting fairly deep into the shield, forcing Jon to let it go. The squire holding Jon's arms, and before Jon could struggle, the knight stepped forward to thrust at him. Jon, deciding he had nothing to lose, turned sideways in the squire's grip, using the lock his arm was in and his weight to swing the smaller man over him, the flying body taking the thrust, the now dead body wrenching the sword out of it's former mentor's hands. As the mentor stood and stared at his sword in his squire, Jon smacked the eye-holes in the knight's helm with his torch, sending ashes in and blinding him. The shield dropped, but Jon grabbed Longclaw's handle and pushed the shield off with his boot. As the knight attempted to take off his helm, one of Jon's brothers thrust his sword through the back of the old man's knee, forcing him to his knees where his head reared back and he prepared to roar in pain, only for Jon to shove Longclaw downwards through the unprotected hole in the man's neck, pushing the blade through his body and exiting out of his lower back.

Jon pulled his blade out of the corpse and looked up to be reminded just how outnumbered they were as they it would seem every raider with a shield was at the front of the group, being steadily pushed by a horde of Bar Emmon men. Before Jon could try to come up with a plan, flaming arrows flew into the Bar Emmon men, followed closely by non-flaming arrows. The second and third moved along the walls, dismissing guards left and right. The fourth fell in behind the first which was now blowing through the remainder of the defense of the town square who no longer had a strong shield wall. The guerrilla, ruthless, shock and awe tactics of the raiders proved superior as arrows would glide into the next cluster of men mere seconds before the raiders slammed into the group. This continued until the square was clear, and the archers began raining death on the stream of men coming out of the garrison on the Eastern side of Sharp Point. The second and third were nearly done with their respective walls, so the fourth stormed in to the thinning crowd of Southern warriors as Jon turned and led the remaining men of the first towards the keep.

On the way to the keep, no guards were found, but any man or woman came across was cut down. Children were left untouched, though scarred for life. Eventually, the first came across the keep, mostly unmanned. Jon guessed they left most of their men in the barracks, assuming nobody would ever get inside Sharp Point. The city went up in flames behind them, men remembering to use their torches unlike Jon, who rushed in to the courtyard with his and his sword. Suddenly, the doors to the great hall slammed open, and a small contingent of men led by who Jon assumed was Lord Bar Emmon himself ran for Jon and his men.

The two forces clashed, and Jon faced Bar Emmon, neither wasting times with probes or circling, both swinging with everything they had. Before long, as they fought on, the raiders had finished off the Southern force and mad a circle around the two fighting, cheering on Jon. Jon had an idea, and swung at Bar Emmon so that when they clashed his sword was to Bar Emmon's left, Bar Emmon's sword to his right. Expecting that the two were swinging again, Bar Emmon pulled his blade away, only for the Skagosi Raider King to lunge forward, driving his sword downward through the lord's leg, dropping him to his knees. The group of warriors cheered when Jon ripped his sword out and knocked Bar Emmon's out of his hands before placing his boot on the defeated lord's shoulder and pushing him on to his ass.

"Jon, my king, we've taken the Torch and the walls, the only places left are the barracks and the Sept. They're right next to each other, and Bar Emmon's forces have holed up in both. However, the lord's son escaped with his mother on the only ship we didn't burn. What do you wish for us to do?" Loch was next to him, asking his plans for Sharp Point as Bar Emmon looked up at them. Jon turned to Loch and removed his direwolf helm.

"Rain fire down on the two from the top of the Torch. Smoke the troops and clergyman out of both barracks and Sept. Finish off what's left of them all, then go about taking the heads of every dead body. We've got stakes on _Warwood_ for this reason. Leave the children, but take the heads of all the dead and put them on stakes around the walls. Before we leave, we'll extinguish the flames on the top of the tower," Loch nodded and ran off, all the other men leaving with him until it was only Jon and Lord Bar Emmon.

Lord Bar Emmon attempted to say something, but it was muffled, so Jon pushed up the visor, then reached down and ripped off the entire helm.

"Monster," Bar Emmon spat while rolling, attempting to gather his knees underneath him.

"We're both killers, Bar Emmon. No difference, really," Jon stated.

"I'm nothing like you boy. There's a huge difference," Bar Emmon retorted venomously, pushing himself on to his hands and knees.

"You're right, we're not the same. The difference? A reality check… and a sword," before Bar Emmon could move, Longclaw came flashing down, separating the lordly head from the lordly body. Jon reached down and grabbed the head, picking it up by it's hair and looking at it. The Stark sheathed Longclaw after wiping it off on Bar Emmon's surcoat, and walked off towards the slaughter with the head of his lordly prey at his side.

"Fuck, I love this job."

 **Bitches. Bam. There. Longest one yet, dope as fuck, action filled. Just a thought, I'm thinkin' of making a sort-of prequel type story to this, all over Liam the First. Then another over Seamus who has just now been mentioned to y'all. Whadya think? Follow, favorite, review, you might get a cookie.**


	9. Chapter 9: Home Is Where The Heart Is

Disclaimer: Imma stop doin' these, can I stop doin' these?

 **A.N. What's up it's ya boy tha God back on the attack with anotha muthafuckin chapter. It just got real. Now, you may be sayin', "How is he gettin' already a FOURTH chapter done when a month ago it took him two weeks to upload 2,000 words," well, to answer that, somebody's been cuttin' down on his super-happy-alone-fun-time. Now let's get it. Also, Imma steal a line from A Perfect Circle in this chapter. Because why not, and fuck off. It fits the Old Ways too well not to. Also, warnin', mixed martial arts in this chapter. Because I love that shit.**

 **Big mention too, after further consideration, the numbers of Skagos should be much higher, since the Iron Islands are smaller and just as hard to live on, though only slightly warmer. The number of men Skagos can field will be 25,000 and the ships 750. (Ironborn are 20,000 strong according to sources.) And Skagos is much bigger.**

 **WARNING: LEMON**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 9: Home Is Where the Heart Is**

The shining white castle and bright, light sand reflecting the bright, Southern sun would have blinded Jon had it not been for him being used to the snows of the North. The light was no issue, but the heat of Sunspear as the _Seawolf, Warwood,_ and _Seaflame_ pulled in to dock, was a huge issue, though Jon refused to admit it aloud. Still, they were still over the water and it was the hottest Jon had ever been, leaving him to wonder just how hot it would be once deep in the city. Luckily for the Dornish, the three raider longships had stopped in Braavos to trade off all goods, because the heat had every Skagosi's temper hanging on by a thread, and the last thing any of them needed was for some angry Northman to murder some stubborn trader. Plus, Jon had got to see the great Titan of Braavos, which was something that he was sure nothing in Dorne could top.

When the _Seawolf_ hit the dock, followed closely by it's two sister ships, Jon quickly vaulted on to the dock, eager to get this over with. He turned towards his and the others crews.

"Kira, Arik, Lachtín, Skulgarth, Odaki, grab your gear and you're with me. The rest of you stay with the ship. Ultán, grab five of yours and come with me, everyone else, stay for now," Several of the men looked unhappy with the prospect of being stuck in such a miserably hot place without even the prospect of women or drink, but they did as their Captain asked, nonetheless.

Jon began down the winding streets of Sunspear toward the castle, Longclaw on back, wolf by side, and weirwood spear in hands, with nine of his best warriors trailing closely behind him, when a large cluster of Dornish men in surcoats with spears surrounded him and his comrades, led by a large, broad-shouldered and white-haired man with a large longaxe in hand. Of course, Jon's party naturally went for their weapons, what they knew best. However, before they could prepare for combat, Jon held up his hand in a placating manner towards his own men, causing first confusion, then displeasure.

"I am Jon Stark, I have come to see your Prince Doran," Jon stated directly to the large man, who stared at him. After a moment, the man nodded and turned around. Half the guards feel in behind him, the other half fell in behind the Skagosi.

Upon arrival at the doors to enter the grand hall that would surely sit the royals of Dorne, Jon was tempted to admire the structure of the palace, but refrained from doing so, knowing that it meant becoming unfocused and possibly allowing his men to kill Dornishmen they needed. When the doors opened, Jon and his entered, inwardly sighing in relief at the coolness of the hall.

On the dais, in the throne, sat an aging, tired looking, gouty man, obviously analytical, but kind enough seeming. Next to him was a younger, better looking man, with a dagger at his hip, smirking. However, his eyes gave away a hint of slyness, an unexpected sneakiness. Jon deemed these men Doran and Oberyn, respectively. Next to Oberyn was a beautiful woman of the same age, holding on to his arm and sitting, whereas Oberyn stood. Seeing as how the Red Viper had no wife, Jon knew this must be his concubine. Next to her were three girls, two good looking and one average, one with daggers, another with a whip, and another with a spear. All three looked dangerous, and Jon dubbed them the infamous Sand Snakes. On the other side of Doran, however, was the most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen. She was a few years Jon's senior, that much was obvious, but she was not old. Her black curls fell in ringlets, and her dark, olive skin was unblemished, her jaw was smoothly rounded and her nose was a cute sort of round, and her short but full figure was flawless, like some dark, Dornish version of a princess from a story. She looked at Jon with an expectation, and something else he couldn't quite place, while Jon was sure his own eyes gave away everything, no matter how stoic he managed to keep his facial expression. This must surely be Doran's daughter, Arianne.

"Prince Doran," Jon greeted, bowing his head in respect, "Other members of the Martell family, I know you not, just as you do not know me, but I would ask you hear my proposition out to the fullest extent you can manage." Most seemed amused at his statement.

"Well, while I appreciate the honesty and bravado required to not beat around the bush, you are wrong. You know us better than we know you. I know many things, such as tales of Skagosi raids all along the Eastern coast, the slaughter at Sharp Point, for example. However, I have no idea who you are, aside from some Skagosi raider, so, who are you?" Prince Doran leaned forward, looking at Jon with an intelligent curiosity, the eagerness rivaling that of a child, but the knowledge so obviously much deeper. Instead of Jon answering for himself, which he was more than prepared to do, Skulgarth stepped forward.

"This is Jon Stark, King of Skagos, Lord of Kingshouse, First of his Line, the Gods Chosen Defender of Their Bloody Isles, and Harbinger of War and the Old Ways," Skulgarth declared, chest out and chin up, staring defiantly at this Southern Lord who would talk so dismissively to the King chosen by the Gods. Areo stepped forward, longaxe in hand, facing the man who had just stepped towards his charges. Skulgarth heard his step and turned, unslinging his battleaxe from his back, catching it and staring at Areo with his longaxe. Immediately, all of the Skagosi drew their weapons, prepared to strike down this man who would dare to assault a Sagart in a peaceful meeting.

"Halt, all of you, no harm was meant, I'm sure. Skulgarth, however old he may be, is still dangerous, and the man was simply preparing to defend his lord. No issue here."

"Areo, join us on the dais, if you would, and dismiss the guards. These guests are no threat to us as of now," Doran demanded, drawing Areo's attention and prompting him to follow the orders. The guards retreated, and now it was Oberyn who spoke.

"You are far away from home, Stark. Furthermore, it is confusing how a Stark, since I'm assuming you are this second son of Eddard Stark who was gone missing, managed to gain the Kingship of Skagos. Even more interesting than that is how a Stark seems to have lost the sense of honor his father had, and now puts entire holds to the sword," Oberyn spoke, his tone wondering and mischievous, with a hint of danger to it. Jon refrained himself from raising the spear in his hands and answered.

"Well, that's a rather long story, and we've been hot and thirsty and hungry for the better part of a day. Would you happen to have any water, perhaps bread?" Doran chuckled at Jon's not-so-subtle ask for Guests' Right.

"Yes, we have what you ask for. In fact, take part in our hospitality. Sleep in our rooms, and join in a feast this very night. Bring the men at your ships with you, let them join in the merriment."

- **Linebreak** -

"When a man moves to the next life no man wants to shiver,

So when I'm at rest don't lay me at the bottom of a river,

Oh I've waged war and I'll wager you son,

Come winter you'll wish you've burnt me as our ancestors have done,"

The voices of every Skagosi man in the hall rang out, reverberating in everyone's ears. When the echo finally stopped, all the Skagosi men broke out cheering, yelling and laughing. The royal Dornish family watched on, some with interest, some with annoyance. The Sand Snakes, who Jon had met earlier seemed split down the middle. Nym was interested, Tyene was hard to read, and Obara was annoyed at the boisterous Northmen for being unable to take part in a feast without causing such great commotion that servants fled in fear. Skulgarth and the Smalljon sat at the table with Jon, the Martells, and the Sands. Loch and Ultán stood from their spots in the crowd, causing a silence to envelope the crowd.

"My king," Loch stated, "Your men wish for you to start off the festivities proper." Jon couldn't help but chuckle, expecting no less from his men than to continue on with their form of partying, even in a foreign home. The men started to chant.

"Stark, Stark, Stark, Stark, Stark..."

"Alright you bloody bastards, I'm on my way," The warriors cheered and Jon couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. He made his way down to the middle of the room, in between all the tables, under the watchful eyes of the Dornish. The other Skagosi made a circle around Jon, and he quickly removed his shirt and sheath, having discarded his armor earlier on for comfort. Darragh stepped forward, shirtless as well, the slightly bigger man grinning at Jon. Skulgarth called out the rules.

"All right, no eye gouging, no groin shots, no biting, all else is fair game, it's over when both men are done or one man is unconscious. Begin!"

Jon stepped forward at the same time as Darragh, both throwing out a test jab, Darragh's connecting solidly with Jon's chin. Jon smiled and threw a kick, connecting with Darragh's thigh, right above his knee. The brothers-in-arms danced around each other for a few moments, each throwing different shots, before Darragh shot forward with a leaping hook, expecting to catch Jon off guard. The young king, however, expected it and ducked under it, simultaneously sending a kick out to catch Darragh's legs, causing him to lose balance. By the time he had turned around, Jon was spinning, sending a flying back kick straight into his abdomen. As he bent over, Jon jumped up, pushing his knee into his friend's face. When Darragh shot upward, Jon threw a hook, connecting with Darragh and sending him backward. The Stark's mistake, however, was that next, he threw a one feint head kick, pretending to high kick with the left, only to jump and high roundhouse with the right. The slightly older man saw it coming, catching the leg and pushing Jon down, landing on top of him in full guard.

His arms were on Jon's sternum, until Jon swept them out and stuck his left leg sideways on the back of his friends neck, with his right foot pushing into Darragh's left hip. Jon hugged his knee with both arms, digging his right elbow into Darragh's collar bone ( **A.N. Shoutout to my man Eddie "Edgy Brah" Bravo, who created this, called mission control, or, the rubber guard** ). When Darragh attempted to punch him with his left arm, the right being unable to get in to reach him, the young captain stuck his left foot farther out and brought his right leg from pushing the hip to locking up with the left, trapping the head, arm, and shoulder of Darragh together. Jon pulled the arm down and straight, squeezing with everything he had, attempting to choke Darragh until he tapped or fell unconscious. Darragh, ever the warrior, picked Jon up, slamming him back down on his back. Jon managed to hang on, however, and fought to squeeze even harder. Finally, Darragh's vision went black and his body limp, and all men rushed over, helping to wake him up.

When Darragh's eyes finally opened after a moment, taking in his surroundings, his king grinned and the group of men cheered, hoisting both up. They handed both men some Skagosi Ale, recently dubbed Wildfire-Water. Jon and Darragh clasped hands and hugged, both laughing, before Darragh raised Jon's hand. Jon stepped out of the circle, heading back up to the dais as two more men stepped in to the circle.

When Jon reached his seat, he was met with the questioning stares of several Dornishmen, as well as the interested look Obara had gained from the combat. Oberyn spoke out.

"Well, I must say, you Skagosi know how to celebrate. You party like Dothraki, only, without the killing."

"No, usually there's that too, but we're on the warpath, and must leave that behind us," Jon answered, raising his bottle to his lips and taking a deep drink. Oberyn snorted and Jon raised an eyebrow at him.

"Though, it seems you don't drink half as well as you fight. Have some Dornish wine, it's certainly tougher than whatever water you have in there," Oberyn stated, not expecting the snorts that came from all three warriors on the dais. Jon walked over, presenting the bottle to Oberyn. Oberyn looked confused, before raising it to his lips, attempting to take down an entire gulp, breaking out in a fiery cough halfway through his attempt. "What in the seven Hells is this?"

"That would be Skagosi Ale, Prince Oberyn. Nicknamed Wildfire-Water. A bit tough at first," Jon laughed at the dubious look on the Prince's face. Oberyn turned, giving the drink to his daughters. Obara took a drink, with the same result as her father, followed closely by her two eldest sisters. All the Northmen watching laughed.

"Aye, now you can try drinking like a Skagosi," Smalljon stated out loud, drawing more laughs from the men when two of the girls glared at him, Nym deciding rather to smirk at him, seeming to have taken a liking to the large and rugged Northerner. Jon turned and looked at the rest of the family, primarily Arianne. She was looking at him again with that glint in her eye, that look that he couldn't place. Before he could think more on it, she looked away. Jon caught another bottle thrown his way, uncorking it and drinking down several mouthfuls immediately. Before he could celebrate further, Prince Doran captured his attention.

"King Stark, I would like if you and your two friends joined my brother and I for a drink in private," Jon nodded, understanding completely.

"Let me get my stuff first," Doran nodded, and Jon jumped down to the lower table he had left his sword and shirt on. Grabbing the black tunic in hand and turning with the sheathed blade in the other, Jon caught sight of Arianne's gaze, her staring at his shirtless abdomen, before she turned back to talk to Tyene, blushing slightly, though it was hard for Jon to tell with her darker complexion. Jon felt the sudden urge to blush, but understood that would earn him teasing from his men he didn't necessarily want, so he maintained his calm. He quickly put his shirt on, slinging Longclaw across his back he followed his two friends, Areo Hotah, and the two princes.

When they entered Doran's study, Jon attempted to pull the door closed behind him, only to be stopped by a soft hand on his bicep. He turned, and Arianne smiled at him, moving past him, so tantalizingly close, brushing against him as she passed, tempting him. He kept his hands to himself however, and when they both entered, Doran gave his daughter a look, though she gave him one right back.

"So, King Stark," Doran began.

"Just, Jon, if you please, Prince Doran, no need for such formalities amongst friends."

"Alright, then I am simply Doran, and my brother Oberyn, to you. I would wish to know this proposition you have brought to me." Doran's eyes were better guarded than Oberyn's, but the look in them gave Jon no doubt he was every bit as dangerous as his younger brother.

"Well, Doran, I would propose a pact, of sorts, towards an end of unification," Jon vaguely declared. When Doran raised his eyebrow, Jon continued, "The Seven Kingdoms had a good run, but we are on the brink of war, we all feel it. The Targaryens kept Westeros from bursting at the seams for a long while, but the Baratheon king cannot. There are too many kingdoms in Westeros for there to be only one king. It was seven kingdoms for a reason. There are supposed to be eight kings, excluding the King of Skagos. I would propose that when this war comes, and it shall, I promise you, we stick together. Dorne and Skagos have always been the two most defiant places in Westeros, save for the Iron Islands, but those squids are part of the problem. Squid raids and fear of the Old Ways keep the kingdoms unified. I shall have a pact with the North, assuredly. When the time comes, Dorne shall have a king just as certainly as the North or Skagos. We can help each other with this. That, and, it never hurts to have some good men to help you get your justice."

Jon knew that even if Doran did not agree to the first part, just as any good Southern ruler, he would definitely agree because of the last point. Justice was something that the Dornish were dying to have, metaphorically. The look in Oberyn's eyes said all he needed to know, but Jon needed to finish strong with Doran.

"Of course, I recognize that you do not want to push your people into war and devastation. I understand, your culture is not the same as my own. But, Northern and Dornish culture are more alike than you'd think. Women are more free in the North, and bastards are only treated badly by those who have closer ideology to the Southern kingdoms. I expect nothing from you now, only that when war comes to our doors, and it will, you and I both know that, we ally ourselves with like-minded men. We support you, you support us. We help each other throughout the wars to come, and increase trade in times of peace. In return for your obliging me, I should be more than happy to help you gather lion and dog heads."

"While this is all so tempting, I don't understand one thing. Your men and you, you put entire castles to the sword, but you want to help me fight a monster?"

"Well, Doran, there's a difference. We do not rape women, nor do we terrorize and butcher children. In Skagosi culture, any man who wields his blade against a child too small to even lift one, is no man at all. And any man who forces himself on a woman is no man, as a real man would find a woman who is more than willing to join him. We kill, yes, we kill women, yes, but we do not put ENTIRE castles to the torch, and we do not torment those who do not deserve it. Clegane deserves to burn for what he did sixteen years ago, and we would like to see that dream become a reality." Doran mulled over the thought for a moment before reaching his hand out to Jon. The king shook his hand, then Oberyn's.

"Very well then, King Stark, may let us talk of plans, shall we?" Doran smiled, a small, intelligent thing.

"Of course, King Martell," Jon smirked back.

- **Linebreak** -

The Smalljon and Skulgarth were leaving, followed closely by Arianne and Areo. Jon was beginning to leave, when Doran grabbed his arm, prompting him to stay with the Princes of Dorne.

"Aye, Doran?" Jon questioned, unsure as to what more was needed to be said.

"I merely wished to say, it would be good of you to talk visit your mother on your way West," Doran told him, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"My mother is in Winterfell," Jon retorted, unsure as to where this was going, confused.

"No, surely you must have heard of the circumstances of your birth," when Jon nodded tersely Doran continued, "Your birth mother is Ashara Dayne, sister of Ser Arthur Dayne."

"She is a lost woman, with a dead brother, and a missing lover and son," Oberyn continued, "She wanders the halls and Godswood in Starfall, I have seen it with my own eyes. She stares at everything, but she sees nothing. She is cared for by the servants, but she spends all day, not talking, walking around with her brother's sword in her arms, as if she's looking for him. Some days, however, it's like she's looking for you. I heard her, one day. She was walking down the hall, and she stopped at the room they kept you in before your father took you. She called out your name, and she went in to the room. She called your name, and when you didn't answer, she wept, she wept like no woman has ever wept before, save for those who know the pain of their child dying. Seeing your mother would do the both of you good." By the end of Oberyn's story, Jon was slightly choked up.

"Besides, I would also like to give you a proposal of my own. If we are to be allies, it never hurts to seal the pact a bit more." Jon looked confused, so Doran continued, much more straightforward. "I have seen the way my daughter and you look at each other, Jon Stark. I would be pleased if you were to become my good-son. Shh, no need to answer now, go, think on it. When you come back this way, you shall have an answer." Jon, flustered, nodded and left.

Upon his arrival to the corridor, Arianne was by his side, in step with him. When he looked at her from the corner of his eye, she merely grinned at him, showing off her beautiful, white smile.

"What did you speak with my father of, King Stark?" She smiled half innocently, half seductively. Jon had no doubt that she had heard at least some of the conversation, and it angered him. He cared not if she heard the marriage proposal, but if she had heard the part about Starfall, his wrath would be absolutely terrifying to any person without ice in their veins.

"Nothing, and it is Jon to you, Princess," Jon tried to be curt and polite, but the wolf blood was acting up, and he was riled.

"I didn't hear anything save for something my father said to you at the end. Something about you making a decision when you come back. This decision would not have been a marriage proposal by any chance, would it?" Jon wasn't sure if she had heard it, or could just guess as to what it was.

"Perhaps it was, Princess," Jon turned to look at her, realizing for the first time just how short she was. Him, at 6'1", her at 5'2", it was a good height difference. Her round yet sharp features amazed him, and he would be a great liar to claim he was offended by the thought of her as his wife.

"Well then, what exactly do you think, my king?" She was teasing him now that they had stopped in front of his door, fluttering her eyelashes and looking up at him through them, awfully close considering the circumstances.

"I think that a woman has her own say in the matter at hand," Was Jon's answer. He had no other answer. His blood was running, and he was one sentence or signal away from dragging her in his room and having his way with her.

"I think, that my weakness is dark and dangerous, handsome men. I would very much like to test out my possible future husband," And that was the sentence that broke Jon's resolve, though her sultry smile certainly didn't help keep it together. The young man brought his mouth down on hers, and when her hands when in to hi hair, he picked her up, his hands on her ass and her legs around his midsection. He kicked the door open, closing it with his shoulder when they were inside. He tossed her on the bed, her landing softly on the silk and cotton covered feather-bed. She smiled at him, waving him forward with a finger, and he smiled, moving forward in response.

 **LEMON WARNING DON'T READ IF YA DON'T LIKE 'EM**

 **Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his groin closer to hers as his lips attacked hers, his tongue dominating the fight for control, exploring her mouth. Eventually, one of her feet found it's way in between them, pushing him off of her. Jon unslung Longclaw from his back and tore off his shirt and began to unfasten his trousers, watching and drinking in the sight of the woman before him, seductively taking off her dressing, bending and arching as she did so.**

 **The moonlight coming in from the open terrace, along with the cool breeze, granted the perfect environment for Jon as he watched her lifting up her dress. She picked it up, rather tight in some areas, with her fingers gripping the bottom. She turned, her back to Jon, pulling the dress upward, showcasing her smooth legs. When it got to her supple ass, she was forced to tug it up, and over the round, juicy rear she exposed to Jon. If his member wasn't hard before, it was now. She turned back, just as the dress reached her breasts. She pulled her arms above her head, pulling the dress with them, showing off her big, beautiful, luscious breasts, larger than any Jon had seen, likewise for her rear. They were topped by large, brown nipples. When the dress was off, she threw it to the side, and her hands ran through her hair, as black as his, when they came back down. He stepped forward, kissing her, still aggressive and strong, but slower than before.**

 **She turned until Jon was against the bed, and she pushed him back. She grabbed his erect cock, appraising the tool, overjoyed with the rather large, but not insanely large, thick, nine and a half inch dick in front of her face. She squatted down, eye level with it now. Sticking her tongue out, she licked the tip, tasting his salty precum. She ran her tongue down the underside of his shaft until she reached his balls. There, she stuck her mouth around one, jizz-swollen testicle, sucking on it for a second with her hand around his member, keeping the thick tool even more up. She took her mouth off, running the tongue up the left side of his dick, then down the right, ever so slowly. Then, she brought it back up the bottom of the member, Jon staring at her, wide-eyed. She ran her tongue around the head, swirling around it, before licking the slit of it, pushing her tongue against the hole. Jon was speechless when she stuck her mouth on the head, sucking on it, simultaneously swirling her tongue around it. Soon, she brought her tongue to the underside of his cock, and began to bob her head up and down the phallus, taking a little bit more each time, her tongue running along the bottom of his shaft.**

 **Jon, deciding to return the favor, sat up, reached down, and grabbed her hips, turning her and picking her up, until her pussy sat directly above his face, and she returned to her work. He started by running his tongue just around the outer edge of her cunt, hearing her half moan and half whine. He ran his tongue down her slit, slowly, somewhat forcefully pushing his tongue against the lips. Then, once at the end of it, he brought his tongue back down one lip, then slowly back up the other, pleased with her throaty moan adding more pleasure to her oral efforts. He found the right hole in her slit, pushing his tongue in, then moving it in and out. The noises she made urged him on, and he stuck his tongue as far in as it would go, before pushing it against the edges and dragging it up and down the hole. Soon enough, he felt his balls tightening and knew he was close, so he pulled out his tongue, earning a whine from her. He placed his tongue on her clit once he found it, and began to lap at it as he teased a finger in to her folds. He felt himself cumming and managed not to be too loud as he shot his load into her moaning mouth. She seemed to swallow the cum, before sitting back and riding his face and finger. He added a second one, scissoring them inside her snatch. She nearly screamed, and her snatch clinched around his fingers, her juices shooting out all over his face, some falling in his mouth. After she finished riding out her orgasm, she turned, moving her body down until her wet and pulsating core was on his midriff, less than a foot away from the tip of his again hardening dick. She lapped at the juices on his face, cleaning it of her love juices.**

 **Jon flipped them over, realizing they had gotten to the middle of the bed. She was on her back and his tip was at the opening of her entrance. She initiated the lip locking this time, as he pushed his cock in to her, an inch at a time, her wet, velvety, vice-grip of a vagina having to stretch and accommodate his member, fighting him for every inch. When he took his mouth off hers, she moaned out loud, a sound that made Jon's legs burst with energy, ready to move.**

 **He started slow, moving in and out of her, pulling out more with each pull back, a half inch at a time, until he was to the point that every time he pulled out, his head was the only thing left in. He started picking up speed, putting more force in to each thrust.**

 **"Ooooooo my king, your cock, oh gods," Arianne started, unable to finish whatever sentence she had started. Her back arched slightly, her hips moving up to meet his. He began to drive in to her, one forearm keeping him off of her now, the other playing with her right nipple. He pinched and pulled, twisting it only slightly, gaining gasps from her as he began to hammer in to her, pounding away at her core. His hand that had been on her nipple traveled down, grazing her belly button and her navel, reaching her little button. He began playing with her clit, pulling and rubbing at it, as he pushed himself, forcefully and quickly, into her wet, welcoming opening, over and over again. Soon she was panting, moaning louder than before.**

 **"OOOOOO JOOON!" Arianne shouted as she climaxed, her back arching until midriff met his and her cunt squeezing him, making it impossible to move for fear of cumming. Finally, she same down from her high, and he rolled her over and she got on all fours. He sat back and enjoyed the sight of her big, juicy, ass and lovely, juicy cunt staring at him. She moved her hips, wiggling her ass at him. With her ass jiggling towards him, Jon was more than ready.**

 **He moved forward, impaling her with his cock in one swift thrust. She nearly screamed again, moaning like an expert as he pounded in to her again. He leaned back as he thrust in to her as hard and quickly as he could, pushing her forward each time, only for her to get fully impaled and smacked by his body every time she came back and met another thrust. Every time he pulled out, the walls hugged his member, embracing him whenever he came back in. From his position, the Stark king looking down at her ass, the perfect amount of muscle and fat, in his opinion. Just enough muscle to keep her ass from having some serious fat dimples, but more than enough fat to keep her ass very mobile and beautiful, constantly smacking and jiggling as he hammered home. He reached out and grabbed one hip and one cheek as he pounded in to her, admiring her ass. He moved one hand up to grab her hair, pulling her head back and arching her back more, as the other hand slapped one ass cheek then the other, slowly turning her brown ass red.**

 **"OOO..." Her scream of euphoria was cut off at the intense pleasure coursing through her as he starting thrusting in to her even faster. She went silent, her mouth in a perfect O, and her eyes rolled in to the back of her head. Her arms gave out, so now she lay on her chest, the side of her face pressed in to the bed. He leaned forward, feeling himself growing closer to his own orgasm, pounding in to her and using gravity to help him, now thrusting forward and downward, in to her. His hands left her body, one now on either side of her head as he forced himself through her lips, over and over again. She had never had sex on this level of savage passion, and she couldn't gather her thoughts. His hand moved up her throat, firm, grabbing partially on her jaw. He turned her face toward him, and when they made eye contact, he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own. He was so close now, pounding as if his life depended on it. He grunted and growled, snarled and howled, sounding so much like he did in battle. She was speechless, unable to make any noises come out, save for two, in a whimper.**

 **"In me," Arianne managed to croak out, pleasure still coursing through her. One of his hands reached forward, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her into his thrust as the other hand stayed on her neck. Another orgasm hit her, sending her pussy in to a violent seizure, shuddering and squeezing around his cock as he unloaded all his pent up hormones in to her core, before her orgasm drove him over the edge. He continued to hammer in to her, regardless of how difficult it was with the vice grip, and shot one load in to her, then another, painting her walls with his cum, then another shot, and another. Jon unloaded in her, filling her to the brim, much of it going straight for her womb, some even being forced out of the hole due to the pressure in her core. He howled in to the night air, marking her body as his with his baby batter.**

 **Lemon Over**

When Jon came down from his high, he felt exhausted, unable to stay up anymore. He fell to Arianne's side, she falling with him, so that they stayed together, him still in her. Both were in a state of bliss, and neither had any words. Finally, just as they were both so close to sleep, Arianne spoke.

"I'll agree to the marry you whether you will or won't, my King," She stated, turning to look at him, dark and ominous in the moonlight with his sword behind him against the bed and his back to the door, in between her and anybody who may enter. He made eye contact, and reached forward, trapping her lips in a short, passionate, and sweet kiss. He pulled away and looked her in the eyes.

"I would have to be the world's greatest fool to say no, my Queen," He replied, drawing relief and happiness to both their eyes. And with that, they both drifted off in to a sound sleep.

- **Linebreak** -

When the Dornish dawn splashed across Jon's face, and he opened his eyes to see another, he experienced beauty in it's most honest hour. She had no jewelry or fancy clothes on, no products from across the seas to make her pretty, her hair was splayed and tangled everywhere. All the same, Jon had never seen a face more beautiful than hers in that moment. He watched her face, like an angel out of some story. Then, her eyes opened.

They were a dark hazel and brown, impossible to place. Although from a distance they may just seem brighter than other brown eyes, they were far from average and dull, as most thought about brown eyes. There were so many shades, flecks of colors, different designs in the iris. It was breathtaking. She smiled at him, at first a genuine one, which he returned. He kissed her on her nose.

"I wish you would smile like this more often, Queen, it makes you even more beautiful than you already are," She blushed slightly before sighing, laying her head on his outstretched arm.

"So, are you to leave this morning, my King?" She asked, confused, because she had never felt this nervous and bad by the thought of a man leaving.

"Yes, my Queen. I have a job to do. And, before that, I must visit my mother, my birth mother, at Starfall," He played with her hair as he looked in her eyes, explaining his need to leave, and noticed the hint of fear in her eyes. "I shall come back, I promise you that."

"I have finally found a man I am happy to marry, who I believe I can learn to love, and he is leaving me for war," She stated, feeling like crying. "You may die, and even if you don't you may find another while you are gone. I will share you with no woman, Jon Stark." He laughed, and she had the urge to slap him. He smiled his most genuine grin at her.

"I would expect no less of you, mo Banríon," He kissed her on the lips, and she sighed.

"Mo Banríon?" She asked. He smiled.

"It means, my queen." She blushed and he grinned. She resumed her seriousness.

"At least, help me talk to my father, say yes to the marriage and allow me to come to Starfall. I will go no further, I will stay there," Jon looked unsure so she continued, "I have heard, from rumors, how your mother is. I can help her, you being there will help the most, but her only son's bride-to-be would certainly be able to help, if I were to stay there. Especially if your seed quickens in me. I imagine her good-daughter and her grandchild would be quite a bright addition to her life while you are at war." Jon could find no way to argue with her and groaned.

"I can see this is the beginning of a long line of me being wrong and you always being right," He moaned out. She smiled and patted his cheek.

"At least you know, and that's half the battle," She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but smile back. He sat up, picking her up with him. He stood, and grabbed her hands, gently helping her off the bed, knowing she must have been sore after last night. He grabbed her dress and sandals, and started to help her put them on.

"I may be sore, but I can do it myself, _husband_ ," She teased at him. He blushed and grumbled, turning and grabbing his own clothes, hurriedly putting them on. Grabbing her hand he led her to the door and opened it, dragging her with him in to the hall, when they turned and spotted Doran, Oberyn, Smalljon and Skulgarth all stopped and staring at them.

"Uuuuuuhhh… I accept your proposal?" Jon spoke, the end more of a question than anything. He blushed when Oberyn and the Smalljon laughed out loud, Skulgarth and Doran opting for small smiles.

"Oh, young love, eh Doran?" Oberyn said to his brother, laughing again.

"Quite," Was the response.

"Come on, lover boy," The Smalljon spoke, "You need to grab your armor so we can go. We've got several stops before we can come back."

"Aye, and we mustn't take long, lest Nym grow weary in your absence," Jon teased back at his best friend, garnering a 'shut up'.

"Oh, and, my Prince Doran, I have spoke with Arianne, and we both think it would be good to come to Starfall. No further," Jon started before being interrupted.

"Yes, yes, son, she may, so long as you can promise that I'll get a letter if my grandchild is on the way," Doran jested, gathering laughs from everyone but Jon. "Come now, my future son, we have gifts out by your ship."

Upon arrival at the _Seawolf_ , Jon once again was hot as Hell in his armor. However, his day was off to a good start and only got better when he saw the horse by his ship. It was a dark gray, almost black steed, much like his armor or his eyes, not as large as some warhorses, but larger than Dornish steeds. At Jon's stare of wonderment, Oberyn explained.

"His father was a destrier, one of those warhorses you Northerners like. A big and mean one, at that. He bred with our fastest female, and this was their offspring. Bigger than our steeds, but smaller than warhorses. A big beast, strong enough to carry armor and an armored man, but with the stamina and energy of a Dornish steed, though not as quick. And here, one from me," Oberyn handed him a blade in a sheath. ( **A.N. the blade is the Felon knife from ZombieTools.** ) When Jon unsheathed it, it was a large knife, with a beautiful shape, and a Valyrian Steel blade. It had no fancy handle, but it was beautiful in a simple way nonetheless.

"I thank you, Prince Oberyn," Jon started but was interrupted by Oberyn placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You are to marry my niece, Jon," Oberyn started, squeezing his shoulder, "You are family, my new nephew. Besides, you have vowed to help serve our family justice, and that was before you became part of our family. I imagine there is no way you cannot keep your word now."

Jon laughed before turning back to his new mount. Petting it for a while, he took the reigns and turned to Arianne.

"Come on, mo Banríon, to Starfall we go."

 **Light chapter, gon' be light and dark next chapter, which I'm workin' on now.**


	10. Chapter 10: Like A Falling Star

**A.N. Shit's finna get weird. Brace yourselves, fuckery is comin'. Alright, so, the Skagosi military pop. count is 25,000 and the ships around 715.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 10: Like A Falling Star**

In the distance, Jon could see Starfall upon it's rock nestled in the water, it seemed a haven from the storms that surely ensued in the river. Just from gazing upon it, one could tell that usually there was a sense of beauty and wonderment to this place, the ancestral home of House Dayne and the Sword of the Morning. However, there seemed to be an impending sense of depression and lost hope to the castle, almost as if one were to walk through the world with no memory of what had happened, unable to tell why one was sad. Underneath all that were two more feelings. One of a lost happiness that could surely be recovered, one of anger and spite that was ever present. Jon didn't know if he wanted to cry or sing or grin or fight. What he knew was that, from horseback, on Cadeyrn, meaning Battle King, and being the name of the steed, it wouldn't take long to find out the truth to his mother's home. The three longships had been beached further down the Southern coast towards Dorne, in order to keep the ships on a beach in case of freak storms. Having the ships so near the rocks of Starfall itself would be disastrous.

So, Jon was on horseback with Arianne behind him, the damnable cape, which reached almost to his ankles, she had talked him into wearing in between them, tugging on his armor. She wanted him to look as 'dashing' as possible upon his arrival to his mother's home. Considering his battle-tested armor, habit of wolf-staring, ceremonial warrior hairstyle, and direwolf helm, it would be a little hard to have him be able to present an image of chivalry and grandeur, but she had tried nonetheless. Now, he had been forced to wear Longclaw at his side, which was an entirely foreign feeling. Luckily, the closer they got to the bridge that leads to Starfall, the more he forgot about the black and red fuckin' cape.

When they finally reached the entrance to the bridge, large white direwolf at side, and armored man on horseback with a beautiful lady, Jon imagined that they appeared to be out of lore, and even the hair and helm could not change that. The guards didn't seem to care either way.

"Who comes to the gates of Starfall?" The older of the two guards asked, staring at Jon while the younger one stared at Arianne. She thought it proper to respond.

"King Jon Stark and his betrothed, Princess Arianne Martell."

"And what is your business in Starfall?"

"To see the my king's mother, the Lady Ashara of Dayne."

"Aye, you may pass," The older guard allowed them, only after appearing genuinely shocked at their answers. On their way past, Arianne spoke to the younger guard.

"I would suggest you stop staring, lest my Direwolf gets hungry," Arianne giggled when the young man put his hand on his sword and stared at Ghost. "No silly, I didn't mean THAT Direwolf." The young man looked up, confused, then noticing the helm in Jon's hand and his hand on Longclaw. Jon bared his teeth and snarled, causing the man to jump back in surprise. Arianne laughed again, and Jon spurred the horse through the bridge towards the actual gates. They passed several more guards who stared just as much at Jon and Ghost as they did at Arianne.

Upon their arrival at the gates, shouts were heard from the walls and the doors began opening. Jon kicked the horse into action, moving in to the first of the beautiful hold, followed closely by Ghost. Most of the other men would be staying at the ships until they received word. Arianne admired the city, loving the architecture and fairy tale shininess to the place. The atmosphere was anything but fairy tale however. The people gave them looks as they rode by, and the air was filled with despair. Several of the people looked hungry, on the brink of starvation. The environment got no more pleasant the closer they were to the castle itself. Eventually, they entered the courtyard, and Cadeyrn halted, snorting and pawing at the ground, it's violent black eyes looking for a fight amongst other beasts be they horse or man. An ill-tempered beast, to be sure. Jon loved him.

When the doors opened, a man, older than the expected Edric Dayne, exited. Of the Daynes of Starfall, there were Edric, Allyria, and Ashara. This man was none of them. Yet, all the same, Jon nodded at the man.

"Where is the Lord or Lady?" Jon queried, eager to know why the family he had never known were still yet to be known.

"Edric is squiring for Beric Dondarrion in the Stormlands, and Lady Allyria is in bed, who are you?" The man, who Jon assumed was the castellan or master-at-arms of Starfall, stared at him inquisitively.

"I am Jon Stark, and you?" The look on the man's face was one of wonder.

"Lady Ashara's only son?" He dropped to a knee. "Thank the Gods. Forgive me my lord, I had no idea." Jon quickly dropped from Cadeyrn, rushing over and helping the older warrior from the ground.

"Now, none of that friend. Who are you, where is everybody?" Once the man was on his feet, Jon returned to his steed and helped Arianne down.

"I am Ser Brod Upcliff the castellan and master-at-arms of Starfall."

"Both? Where is the other man?" Jon asked.

"Dead, my lord. Much is wrong in the world currently. Come with me, quickly." The man ran off, faster than usual for a man his age, into the castle. Jon and Arianne followed closely, tailed by Ghost. They went up stairs and down hallways until eventual they came to the biggest set of doors Jon had seen in the hallways of this castle, giving the hint that this was the lord's room. When they entered, a sickly smell was in the air, laced with medicine and herbs. An old man in gray robes with a link of chains around his neck sat by a bed, a pale and obviously sickly woman in the bed. She could not have been much older than Arianne, but she looked awful.

Jon approached the bed, Arianne behind him, and he looked at the lady cautiously. She looked at him, but her face held no recognition.

"My lady," Ser Upcliff began, "This is Jon, Jon Stark, Ashara's son. Your nephew."

This was Allyria Dayne? What the Hell had happened?

"My nephew? Come closer, let me see. Yes, it's in the mouth, and the set of the eyes, the hair too. My sweet nephew. You have come at a bad time." She coughed, every word seeming to be a chore for her.

"What has happened here, Aunt Allyria?" She seemed pleased he had called her Aunt Allyria, but she quickly looked sickly again.

"You're distant cousin, the Darkstar, Gerold Dayne. He stood not to inherit High Hermitage and attempted to take Starfall through treachery. He slipped something in my drink, but he was found out. However, he has the raiders from the mountains on his pay, and we cannot get supplies. The people are starving and we can get no medicine, so having him in the dungeons is all but worthless. Most of our forces are in the passes, guarding them from the recent threats of a Reach invasion," Jon was furious. He wants to come to Starfall to meet the other half of his family, and some asshole named _Gerold_ was going to take this from him? Not a fucking chance.

"It shall be dealt with, Aunt Allyria. I have over a hundred good men, the mountain raiders shall not live out the week." Jon turned on his heel, "First, I shall serve justice to cousin Gerold."

"Wait Jon. You must see your mother first. Talk to her, brighten her spirits. Your mother will do good of keeping people upbeat around here if she sees you. Retrieve Dawn from her, and use that to dispense our justice. Are your men here?"

"They are less than a day's march down the coast."

"Good. Maester, please escort my nephew to his mother, then send a raven to my nephew's men, tell them to come to Starfall. We need the help." The maester agreed, turning to leave with other, save for Ser Brod who stayed to keep Allyria company. The maester lead Jon and Arianne down several halls, then pointed them towards a door and left them without a word. The Stark crept forward, nervous, until Arianne grabbed his hand and rubbed it with hers, comforting him. Jon smiled at her and turns, taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Inside, the walls were a soft, light blue, the same color as rivers on a bright, cool day. There was a window allowing a few rays of light in, and several toys strewn about one end of the room. On the other, against the wall, was a crib. Sitting against the crib was a middle-aged woman with tousled black hair. She had shocking purple eyes, and tears stains running down her face. She was obviously a very beautiful woman, but seemed lost, unsure, and depressed, staring at a wall. She was curled up in a ball of sorts, a sword in her lap, pointing towards the ground, the sword leaning against her and the handle above her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and the sword. Jon opened the door completely, making the hinges creak, at which the woman's head shot up, immediately looking for him.

"Arthur, or, no, not Arthur, Ned? Ned? No, not my Ned. Is that you Jon? Are you my little boy?" She seemed frantic, constantly stopping to answer her own questions, but worked up nevertheless.

"Yes, Mom, it's me, Jon," He told her, as softly as he could, on the verge of crying by seeing the woman who gave birth to him so broken. She seemed shocked until he moved forward and dropped to his knees in front of her. Then, she broke out in to sobs and grabbed him, clutching him to her as if her life depended on it. He made no move to interrupt the embrace, it filling the hole that had been in his heart since the day his Mother in Winterfell had raged against him.

"You're finally home, my baby boy, your father took you but you're home," Jon's mother sobbed out.

"Yes Momma, I'm home," Jon had tears on his cheeks now, leaks, though he barely kept the flood of tears back. She lifted him from her, holding him at arms length, staring at him and smiling the largest smile Jon had ever seen on any person's face.

"My beautiful baby boy, you're already a grown man," She sobbed again but continued, "You'll always be my little boy though. I've missed you so much, so much, I love you so much. You look so much like your father, and like your Uncle Arthur too." She stared at him, grinning and looking fit to burst.

"I love you too Momma, I've missed you," Jon said, feeling like a child, waiting to be held and coddled by his mother.

"I missed you so much my precious boy. I'm so glad you're back. A mother's love is like a falling star, so bright and quick, and it's been so painful since you've been gone. I was lost, but I found you."

"Yes Momma. Momma, this is Arianne, my betrothed," Jon helped her up, showing her to Arianne.

"You're getting married already?" Ashara asked, looking ready to cry.

"Not quite yet, but soon Lady Ashara. It's good to see you," Arianne greeted, sticking out her hand, only to get pulled in to a hug.

"You are my good-daughter now, no need for formalities. You're glowing, are you with my grandchild already?" She held Arianne away from her, smirking mischievously. Jon blushed and Arianne did as well, stuttering out an excuse. "By the Gods, you are! Come, come, you two must tell me everything."

"Actually, there is important business, Mother," Jon started, but stopped when she glared at him due to the formal use of 'Mother', "Momma, your sister Allyria is sick, she's been poisoned by the Darkstar, Gerold Dayne. There are raiders attacking supply caravans and we can't get food or medicine. Aunt Allyria sent me to retrieve Dawn, to restore balance and order with it." Ashara looked ready to cry again, but she managed to keep a stoic facade. She reached down and grabbed the sword she had left leaning against the bed, presenting it to Jon. Jon grabbed the sheath with his left hand, pulling out Dawn with his right. The pommel was a falling star, but the blade and grip were identical with Longclaw, whose wolf-head pommel seemed to contrast yet fit in with the star. Jon unclasped the cape from behind him, sheathing Dawn, swinging Longclaw's sheath on to his back, and slinging Dawn over Longclaw, so that if he reached right above his shoulders, his right hand would grasp Longclaw, the left grasping Dawn.

"Thank you, Momma," Jon expressed, earning a terse smile and nod from his mother. He turned, walking out the door, expecting both to follow, and follow they did. He walked down the hallways, remembering all the twists and turns, and exited out in to the courtyard, where several guards stopped to stare, amazed at seeing not only a focused Ashara, but Dawn in the hands of somebody who wasn't her. Their awe was cut short by Jon.

"You, there, Ser Knight, what is your name?" Jon questioned an armored man who had been staring, the same as every other man.

"Jaddon Falwell, my lord." The knight spoke, still slightly out of it.

"Well then, Ser Jaddon, do you serve House Dayne?"

"Aye, I do."

"Good, then in the name of House Dayne, I must ask three things of you." The knight was confused, but quickly got over his confusion.

"What is it my lord?"

"I want you to round up every knight and man-at-arms in Starfall, tell them to gather their gear and horses, and meet me at the gates. But first, I want you to bring me the Darkstar, and a chopping block." Ser Jaddon looked hesitant, opening his mouth to question Jon, but the look on the younger man's face, the look in his eyes, forced Falwell into motion, rallying several guards to help look for knights and grab Gerold Dayne.

When they dragged Gerold out of the dungeon he had been in, under the barracks, his eyes squinted from the glare of the sun. He did not kick or scream, he simply was.

"Who are you?" His eyes were poisonous, his tongue laced with venom. His eyes shifted to Arianne, "And who are you, my lady? Perhaps, after this is all over, you can come to my cell, I shall treat you well..."

The Darkstar had began, before unexpectedly catching Jon's boot with his mouth. He fell on his ass and spit out two teeth, glaring at Jon. Two guards grabbed him by the arms and picked him up to his knees.

"I am Ashara Dayne's only son, Jon Stark. You are the one they call the Darkstar." It was a statement, not a question. He had the look of a man who would go by such a stupid name, silver hair with a black streak.

"Aye, because I am of the night," Gerold smirked, thinking himself viciously clever, or perhaps, cleverly vicious. Vicious he was, clever he was not.

"Only fitting that you shall die in the daylight, then," Jon said, turning to see a man dragging in a tree stump for a chopping block.

"What do you mean 'die'?" Gerold asked, now nervous, "I haven't stood trial yet!"

"No trial," Was Jon's response, "I am in charge, and I say you die. Fuck a trial." Two men rushed over to help the man drag the stump, and soon enough, they had it in front of Jon. Gerold was kicking and screaming, fighting against the men dragging him to the chopping block. Jon snorted. _Coward._ Finally, they had Gerold's knees before the stump, and, pushing his shoulders forward, the guards held him until a particularly stocky man-at-arms put his boot on Gerold's back, keeping him in place with his head on the stump. Jon drew Dawn, it shining in the light.

"In the name of Lady Allyria of House Dayne, I, Jon Stark, King of Skagos, Lord of Kingshouse, And Chosen Avenger for Starfall do hereby sentence you to death by decapitation. Do you have any last words?" Jon's tone was nothing short of contemptuous, derisive, filled with disgust and distaste.

"You can't do this, I share blood with you!" The Darkstar took comfort in this, and grew visibly calmer, "Yes, you are my kin!"

"You are no kin of mine." Darkstar had but a fraction of a moment to tense up and protest before the Valyrian Steel blade came flying through the air, then through his neck. The cut was clean, the swing powerful. The head came clean off, and as blood shot out of the wound in the neck, Jon reached down to grab the head by the hair, drinking in the look of terror on the face. He turned towards the large man-at-arms and tossed him the head.

"I want that on a pike on the side of the road leading to the bridge. I want a sign underneath it that says 'Kinslayer & Traitor'. Strip the body, toss it in a ditch face down somewhere. Am I understood?"

"Yes, my lord," The man spoke before rushing off to do just that. Jon spun around to look at his mother and his bride-to-be.

"I must go."

"Yes, duty calls." His mother smiled at him. "Just… be safe okay?"

"Of course Momma," She smiled, kissed his cheek, then patted it and waited for Arianne to say her goodbyes.

"You better come back to me, my Wolf," She said, her tone menacing, "Because, I swear that if you die, I'll track you down in Hell and kill you." He smiled, and she softened up.

"I promise, I'll come back." He kissed her on the corner of her mouth before running and jumping on Cadeyrn and galloping off towards the gates.

- **Linebreak** -

A train of twenty wagons came down the road, five men-at-arms to each. Upon arrival at an intersection with a smaller path, a contingent, or rather, horde, of fifty mountain raiders popped out of the surrounding shrubbery, surrounding the wagons and the men. They were followed by seventy-five more, then another fifty, then another seventy-five. Word had gotten around that this would be the largest supply train yet, but the forces guarding it seemed rather small.

"Alright, ye cunts. Lay down yer weapons, n we'll let ye live," The man, who must have been the leader, shouted. His teeth were black, and his eyes were a small, beady black. He was a head taller than every man there, but his voice seemed no more masculine than that of a common city thief.

"Alright boys! Uncover!" A burly, stocky man at the front of the wagon train yelled. The men around each wagon ripped off the canvas from each one, exposing the five men in the back of each wagon, hidden in the supplies. While the men-at-arms certainly weren't frightful to the mountain raiders, these men certainly were. Scarred, clothed in dark furs and pieces of armor, wielding longswords or axes, the men had random designs painted on their faces and necks in blood. Their stares were harder than that of the mountain tribes, the eyes of men who had lived their lives in the pursuit of the perfection of war. And as they sized up the tribes, they grinned, in bloodlust and anticipation. The tribesmen were uneasy and murmured amongst themselves.

"QUIET! It's just a bunch of cunts in fur!" The leader grinned, rallying his men. Soon enough, the footing of the men-at-arms became uneasy, and they retreated along with the unknown mercenaries. The large man and his tribesmen walked forward, not being behind the group but closing in on them. In a few seconds, the forces had moved so that the Dayne men were bending, giving land in the middle. Right as the large man was about to attack, the Dayne's stopped, and a man just as tall, with a scarred face and graying hair, stepped forward, his battleaxe out, ready for blood.

"May the Gods judge you justly, men," The scarred man with the large axe spoke, an arrow stuck itself in the tribe leaders chest, sprouting from him suddenly, and a shower of arrows rained down on the tribesmen from their sides, causing confusion. After the arrows had stopped, the group before them ran in and almost completely closed around the tribesmen, forcing their lines to bend.

Then, just as the forces prepared to attack, a force of armored knights on horseback came swooping in from the path that intersects the main road, led by a man like the mystery warriors, in black, gray, and red, two longswords of the finest steel, ornate runic designs in blood on the right side of his face. He placed a direwolf helm on his head, snarling and terrifying the tribesmen, and began singing the two longswords, twin arcs of gray death, cutting down men fighting and running alike. Soon enough the battle was over, almost no casualties on the Dayne's side.

Jon rode up on some Dayne knights talking to Smalljon and Darragh.

"Ser Falwell," Once he had garnered Ser Falwell's and the other knights attentions, he continued, "I would ask that you hunt down the remainder of the mountain men in the area. Take Arik, Kira, Lachtín, and Darragh, they are our best trackers." When the knight nodded, Jon turned and started back towards Starfall.

- **Linebreak** -

His mother was crying, Arianne was barely keeping herself from doing so, and his aunt Allyria gave him a sad smile, already much better than she was before. This was his family, in Dorne, and they were crying over his leaving. But, he had a job to do. After all, a good portion of the Skagosi fleet had just arrived. 397 longships had joined up with the three, giving right around 15,000 men. A force like that could not be mustered at sea by anybody but the Ironborn, but this was three fourths of their force, whereas it was only barely over half of the Skagosi force. It was, when all together, the greatest fleet in the known world. And the men who manned the longships were the finest warriors in the known world. They had a few jobs to do, before they sailed back Skagos way. So do them, they must. And so, they sailed West.

- **Linebreak** -

The Stone Fleet sat out in the waters, unmoving, not far from the Iron Islands. Six trusted and respected commanders sat on board the King ship, _Seawolf_. King Jon Stark, Jon Umber (who was in the works to be a Sagart, to be in position to take over for Skulgarth once the older Weirwood brother was too old), Lord Finín Stane, his son Ultán Stane, Lord Daigh Crowl and his son Loch Crowl. Each had their own ship, the _Seawolf,_ _Watergiant, Northern Shark,_ _Warwood, Prowler,_ and _Seaflame_ , respectively, though they were all on the King's ship, going over invasion plans.

"Jon Umber, my closest friend, most trusted adviser, you and your new ship Watergiant shall, as well as 65 ships shall attack here, just West of Pebbleton. While you do that, I want you, Lord Stane, to slide by him and attack just South of Ten Towers, on Harlaw. Lord Crowl, you invade Old Wyk from the North, it's the most crowded island, so when you get done, Jon, I want you to join the from the West. Loch, you're attacking Oakmont, then join your father from the East if you're done quick enough. Ultán, my patient friend, I wish you to invade Saltcliffe from the minor bay on the West shore, then, once you're burnt it down, move up to help Jon with Great Wyk, right at the bay above Hammerhorn, I shall invade Pyke from it's Southwestern bay with the _Seawolf_ and my 69 other ships, to ensure the capital is well and finished. From there, anybody who gets finished goes to the Wyks, those are each the largest and the most populous, and most important after Pyke, especially since Nagga's ribs are on Old Wyk. Remember every tactic I've taught you. If there's a shield wall, which is unlikely, then 'Sea-Storm' the bastards, rotate line's and have each new line ram the sons o' bitches. Shock and awe men, quick, lightning fast warfare. These squids don't like storms, well we are the Storm. Leave neither structure nor mine standing. Salt the fields, burn the homes and castles, sabotage the support in the mines, leave no body moving save for the children. Take the kids with you, put them on the ships. We relocate them to random places on the Western shore of Westeros. Understood?"

"Aye, mo Rí," all said in unison. (Aye, my King.)

All men left to their respective ships, splitting up with their sections of the Stone Fleet.

- **Linebreak** -

The night was cold and wet and a storm was brewing, when Jon's ships reached the Southwestern bay of Pyke. Most ships were gone, only a few remained with the small city in this particular bay. There would not be too many warriors here, so they needed to be quick.

All was quiet, and not much was expected by the townsfolk in the bay of Pyke, most asleep, those not, most assuredly drunk. That was, until an entire curtain of flaming arrows lit up the night sky, hitting the ships and the docks, setting blaze to everything in that area. Two forces from either side on land, having snuck up on the city from further up the coast in either direction, rushed in to the town, men flailing their swords and axes, cutting down men and women, using the pommels and handles to knock unconscious defenseless children. Jon rushed in on Cadeyrn, Longclaw and Dawn in his hands, blocking blows from drunk squids and cutting down others within seconds of each other. The battle was over sooner than even Jon expected, lasting no more than 45 minutes. Men carried unconscious kids back to a few designated ships that held no cargo. These ships would leave for the coast of Westeros, dropping the kids off before returning to aid in the attack on Pyke itself, which would already be happening. While Jon and a contingent of 1,000 men surrounded Pyke from the land, the other 1,700 or so would attack from the sea, the simultaneous attack rendering the Ironborn useless. Jon shouted out orders, gathering his crew amongst many others, leaving Cadeyrn on his ship with a man to watch over him. Men set fire to homes and inns and storehouses as Jon set off with his force, Northeast, the smoke rising in to the sky, indirectly signaling to the Ironborn that the Stoneborn were coming.

- **Linebreak** -

Gods, government was a headache. At least, to a man like Eddard Stark. Especially when it was in King's Landing. The chamber-pot of Westeros. It didn't help that this whole Skagos crisis was going on. Of course, Skagos was pledged to the North, but a new king had allegedly been crowned, their fleet rebuilt, and they were raiding up and down along the coast. They had suddenly disappeared however. To add more matters to the mass, children kept popping up from all those places. The men and women were dead, the women unmolested, but the kids completely untouched. No torture, no rape, no deaths. They were being called the Wolf Orphans, after word getting out of the stories they told. The man who led all these raids was a man wielding Valyrian Steel and wearing a wolf or direwolf helm. Men had already given him a nickname. _The Thirsty Wolf_. Ned knew what they alluded to, comparing this raider to Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. Also symbolizing the Skags thirst for war and blood.

Regardless of how Ned felt on the issue, it had him worried that the victory that mattered was so precise. The raid on Baelish Keep was unimpressive, though it certainly angered Petyr Baelish. The White Dawn Settlement was nothing in terms of bragging rights, and the several villages that had burned were next to nothing. But Sharp Point, oh, the Slaughter At Sharp Point. It was said the bards were planning to write a song over the flawless, savage victory. Whoever this Raider King was, he was well-versed in strategy and tactics. And battle skills in general. It was said he had killed the Lord Bar Emmon, a known and respected warrior, in single combat and as if he was far from challenging. Then, they went to Bravos and sold their loot, then they went South. No word had reached their ears since then, and it was frustrating. Then, one tale of close to four hundred ships, though it was only one tale, and not validated.

None of the lords on the Eastern coast could do anything, save for Lord Stannis, due to their lack of ships. Lord Stannis was preparing to do just that. But, in the mean time, preparation, plans, had to be made. Ned heard some singing outside and went to look upon it.

"When the savages crept up on Sharp Point,

The Wolf King cut Bar Emmon down at the joint,

He said you can keep your land, keep your mud,

Because this Northern Wolf wants steel and blood,"

Ned snorted, contemplating the parasitic qualities of most singers. The maidens were gasping and screeching along with the verse about how this Skagosi savage killed a good, loyal Stormlander, which was what especially pissed off Robert. As Ned planned, Robert actually attempted to regain the body he had lost, going so far as to cut down an immense amount on wine and food, even women. He trained nonstop, determined to go back to war. Remembering the tales his grandfather had told him of the last Skagosi Rebellion, Ned shivered. Robert would get his war, alright. It would just be one more ruthless and bloody than even he was used to. Lord Barthogan Stark's corpse could attest to that.

As Ned mulled over some such tales in apprehension and slight fright, a messenger entered his solar.

"Aye?" Ned raised his eyebrow.

"A letter for you from Winterfell, my lord," the man stepped forward, handing him the scroll before promptly leaving. Tensions had been at an all time high, with the Skagosi threat. It was a wonder there was only one settlement in the North ravaged and burnt.

 _Dear Father,_

 _I write to speak of urgent matters with you. Mother's behavior has gotten no better since some recent news. Bran is fine, but Theon and I, and everyone else, we're worried and terrified. The Thirsty Wolf. Well. It's just… it's Jon Father. We thought he and Smalljon Umber had been taken by the Skagosi, but when we sent a messenger to Skagos, Jon sent a message back. He sent back the skull of Theon Stark, with the crown of the Kings of the North. He killed the Skag Captain at White Dawn Settlement, and the fuckers took him and Umber to Skagos. The captain was the last Magnar, so, by right of conquest, Jon took his seat as the Lord of Kingshouse. And as King of Skagos. He's the monster in the direwolf helm, Father._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Robb Stark, Acting Lord of Winterfell_

By the Gods, it couldn't be true, could it? No, Jon was always good. He minded his business, he didn't cut down men and women. For the Gods sake, he was still a fucking boy! No, no, no.

Wait. If they had gone South, then there was the chance…

"Poole, quill and parchment, I need to write a letter to Starfall."

- **Linebreak** -

Jon stared upward at the large rock spirals that held up the towers on Pyke. Not many people knew that there was some land at the bottom of them, but one Stoneborn had noticed, and Jon had an idea. The plan was the same as normal, however, now, Jon would come in with his own crew from the castle itself. At the bottom of these rock spirals were secret doorways. The spirals led all the way up to the very top, and Jon was currently going up it with his entire crew, all 67 left, and Ghost. They were the best warriors in the entire damn Skagosi fleet or army, and they were going to hit the bloody squids from where they couldn't see it coming.

They were currently at the top of the long, winding staircase, looking out of a barely visible window in the storage room the stairs came in to. The moon was almost just right. At midnight, the Hour of the Wolf, the signal would come, and the Assault On Pyke would begin. The first major step in the genocide of the squid menace. Getting excited, Jon hunger increased, starving to bite in to some meat. He looked down at Ghost, who they had outfitted in some strongly placed steel armor. It was not cumbersome, and was fairly sparse, so it didn't really affect his running or movement at all. It wouldn't stop anything, but it definitely meant that it would slow down arrows enough to not be lethal, and blades wielded by most men would slide off unless sent at a certain angle in certain spots.

Finally, the light of the moon broke out of the clouds, it's position signifying the Hour of Reckoning was upon the traitorous offspring of Lodvki Iron-Heart and Gumril Greyjoy, the False Skagosi. Three, two, one, and there was the sound of captured Ironborn ships ramming in to uncaptured Ironborn ships, while on fire. And there was the fire arrows.

"Let's go," Jon whisper-yelled, opening the door in to a larger room which seemed to lead to a hallway. Two Ironborn began to run by, only to see them and attempt to yell. Lachtín and Kira hit both in the throat with an arrow before they could even think about doing anything besides scream for help. Their boots were oddly quiet in the blood and on the hard floors, though Jon wouldn't complain. His furs were back on the ship, but a dark gray, black, and red closed cloak underneath the armor kept it from clanking. The hood wasn't on, his helm was instead. He had one hand on his knife, Northwind, in order to slit throats rather than start a loud and intrusive fight. Every time they came across a room, they checked it, finding no person, and every time they came across a hallway, they split up. If one was to make it to the bridge leading to the next tower, he would wait. Eventually, it was only Jon, Arik, Kira, and Ghost, heading towards the last room they could find, there being no more options.

When they opened the doors, they found a large man in steel plate armor with a kraken helm, ordering two men in normal Ironborn attire to follow him out to the battle. The large man, who must have been Victarion Greyjoy, held a war axe and a shield. Upon entering the room, the three Ironborn turned, one catching an arrow courtesy of Kira, the other a dagger, courtesy of Arik. Jon stepped forward, hands now on his longswords, analyzing the famed commander in front of him. Victarion spit on the ground in between him and Jon, and Jon did likewise.

"I am Victarion Greyjoy, boy, Commander of the Iron Fleet, captain of the _Iron Victory_. Who you be?"

"I am Jon Stark, King of Skagos, Commander of the Stone Fleet, and captain of the _Seawolf_."

"Skagos? So the fuckin' Skags have come for us again, huh? About damn time. Come for me, Skag!"

"With pleasure, squid." Jon unsheathed Longclaw and Jon, thankful the room was big enough and the ceiling high enough that he didn't have to worry about hitting anything else. He rushed forward, throwing a test jab with Dawn, then a downward swing with Longclaw. The first was parried, the second blocked with the shield. Jon swiped at Victarion's legs with Longclaw, ducking to dodge a counter-swipe from the Ironborn's axe. Jon sent a flurry of slashes and stabs, thrust with Longclaw, side swipe with Dawn, uppercut with Longclaw, looping, leaning strike with Dawn towards the neck. Victarion was slower, though still fast for a man of his age and size, and was barely able to dodge most of these, getting clipped by Dawn but drawing no blood. Soon though, the forward march for Jon stopped, and he received a rough kick to the chest from Victarion, sending him flying back on to his ass, which he turned in to a roll, ending up on his feet again.

Victarion jumped forward, slashing with the axe, but when Jon caught it with his swords, he received a shield bash to the face for it. Though not very dangerous, it rang Jon's head, warning him to be more careful. Victarion swiped his shield, and when Jon ducked he was jabbed in the mouth by the blunt top of Victarion's axe, making him stumble backwards again. Victarion came forward, and when he slashed sideways, Jon jumped under it, quickly leaping in and landing a vicious uppercut to the Ironborn captain's unprotected chin, only for the Greyjoy to keep his feet under him, and him to trip Jon, putting him on his back. He slashed downward with his axe, aiming for the jaw and neck. The Stark King dodged, shooting his body to the left, slamming in to Victarion's right leg, causing him to lose balance. Jon stabbed upwards and to his right with Dawn, impaling Victarion through his right elbow, rendering that arm and axe useless. Victarion roared and attempted to move and smack Jon with his shield, but the younger warrior swung a vicious backhand strike, within an inch of Dawn, separating the right arm from the body and lodging Longclaw in to Victarion's left forearm, an inch above the wrist. He turned to get up, only for Victarion to scrape the jagged edge of the armor on his now amputated arm down across Jon's face, smearing his blood over Jon and opening a cut or two of his own on him.

In anger, Jon threw a kick straight upward, connecting with the larger man's jaw and laying him out flat, though still awake. Jon got to his feet, and Victarion struggle up on to his knees. Jon, with Dawn still in hand, approached the wounded captain, sizing him up. Deciding he was out of action, Jon got closer, grabbing Longclaw from the left arm and ripping it out, letting the veins flow freely in to the cool night air.

"You fight like a Skagosi, Greyjoy. I respect that. Do you wish to be put in the sea?" Jon was genuine, deciding that a warrior such as Victarion deserved the rites he wanted.

"Aye, that'll do," Was Victarion's short and gruff response. Jon stood in front of the captain and aimed his blades both downward, through the chest plate and in to the rib-cage. Pushing the blades through him, Jon heard a grunt, felt the Ironborn cough up some blood, then promptly die. He turned, noticing his three companions by the next door, Ghost chewing on an arm. Victarion's arm. Nodding at the twins, Jon readied himself in a stance at the door, waiting for whatever may come next.

When the doors opened, an old, brittle looking man came rushing at Jon with an axe. Jon simply knocked the stabbing drive away and threw his whole body forward in to a headbutt, knocking the older man down. When he was down, Jon got a better look at him.

He was cruel looking, with sharp features and cold eyes. His hair was gray and brittle, and he smelled like wine and piss. He was thin and wore a fucking robe. This was Balon Greyjoy?

"Lord Squid," Jon greeted, wiping his swords off on Balon Greyjoy's robe before sheathing them, grabbing the lord by the front of his robe and throwing him in to a stack of bottles on the table. The bottles cracked and crashed, and no doubt Balon now had some shards in him. Jon went around the table and grabbed the old lord again, throwing him in to the book shelf up against the wall.

"Where is your daughter, Lord Squid?" Jon questioned, angry now that he was in the face of such a disgrace. Victarion may have been Ironborn, but if it wasn't for the mislead ideology religion wise, he would've been a damn good Skagosi. He was a man and a warrior, through and through. Balon? Balon was weak, hypocritical, cowardly. He deserved no mercy.

"She's gone, you'll never catch her," Balon laughed, and Jon snapped a right hook across his jaw, audibly breaking it.

"Oh, I'd wager I can. I'll chase her through all four seas and to the seas of the great beyond. But, in the meantime, we'll just make sure your wife suffers for both her and your daughter. Then, I'll go kill your only son. When I catch your bitch daughter, it'll put an end to your treasonous blood-line once and for all. Arik, Kira, bend him over the table right there, at the corner so I can get to his neck."

The twins grabbed the older man, forcing his shoulders down on the table, him too feeble to break free. Jon pulled Longclaw out of it's scabbard, grasping it with two hands.

"Balon, of House Greyjoy, I, Jon Stark, King of Skagos and Defender of the Old Ways do hereby sentence you to death by decapitation for the crimes committed by your treasonous ancestors, Gumril Greyjoy and his sons. May the Gods judge punish you justly," A guttural noise emitted from Balon's broken mouth as the sword came down, cutting through the thin neck easily enough. Jon grabbed the head by the hair before it could roll off the table, sliding his sword back in to it's scabbard. He spit on Balon's corpse, and turned, and grabbed the newer Driftwood Crown, leaving the filthy and cluttered study.

Upon arriving in the room they had been in before, Jon looked at Victarion's corpse and sighed, dropping Balon's head. He grasped the kraken helm, pulled it off, and strapped it to his belt.

"Come on, the waters down there, we'll throw him out the window, make it easy," Jon ordered, and he and the twins grabbed as much of him as they could, hefting him up and towards the window.

"Farewell, brother, may the Gods forgive you for your and your ancestors' past transgressions," And they promptly tossed him out the window. The young King spun on his heel, grabbed Victarion's shield for proof and/or trophy, as well as the head and the crown, before jogging down the halls in the direction he believed was towards the next tower.

When the foursome reached their comrades crossing the bridge, Darragh and others stared at Jon more covered in blood than the rest of them.

"Victarion and Balon Greyjoy," Jon shrugged, smiling a little when Darragh and Skulgarth bellowed in laughter. The two quickly got across the rope bridge, followed closely by the newest arrivals. The next tower was empty, and so was the next, and on their way to the last, Jon strapped Victarion's shield to his back, over his swords, though still allowing him to draw them. He continued to follow his crew, making it in to the next tower before exiting it, catching sight of the last defense of sorts at the bottom of the slope leading to the city.

They had several rows of shields, and archers behind that. In the rain that had started not too long ago, the ground had turned to mud and the Skagosi had trouble advancing on the Ironborn lines. Judging by the size of the Skagosi horde, they had lost a very minimal amount of men, which was good, but they would lose a lot more if this continued. Jon and his 68 men, one woman, and direwolf, rushed down the slope, ramming and slamming in to the back of archers and shield carriers, causing chaos in the lines and allowing the Skagosi to get through. Upon standing up, Jon watched as his comrades cut down squids by the dozens. He stepped back, just drinking it all in. There was Kira, unloading arrows in to stragglers, Arik defending her from men coming towards them. Ghost lunging and dragging a man to the ground by his throat. There was Skulgarth dodging a blow by an equally old man with a splintered jaw and four lips, before releasing a ferocious uppercut with his battleaxe in to the warrior's body with a roar, lifting the man up in to the air. Raiders cheered, and squids died.

Jon took a deep breath, making sure he had everything in order and on him, and he whistled at Ghost, urging him to forget his feast and follow, and follow him to the _Seawolf_ , now in the bay, to leave for Great Wyk and leave some of his men to finish the butchery to follow on the rest of the island.


	11. Chapter 11: The Reaper of Reavers

**A.N. So, good news, BSWW is now #1 priority, Conríocht is on hold. Bad news, school is startin' again, which means not as much time to work on the story. I'll still try for one every day, but it might end up bein' one every two days. Never know. Without further ado, let's get to it.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 11: The Reaper of Reavers**

Smoke filled the sky, replacing the very air itself as the main inhalant of all that drew breath on or near the Iron Islands. For as far as the eye could see, all one could see were the fires that engulfed the islands, the smoke that was produced that replaced the clouds, and the corpses and ash that littered the sea. One could not truly see for miles and miles, the smoke being far too thick to allow any sight through, aside from the faint blazes that were the cities of Harlaw, Pyke, Blacktyde, Orkmont, Saltcliffe, and the Wyks. Jon and the ruthless Skagosi who had earned the nickname 'The Wolves of War' from their victims had adapted, growing comfortable in the smoke, learning to breath the ruins and remains of an entire civilization and people. Near genocide was eminent.

Every island had fallen now, save for one. No Ironborn lived on the Iron Islands save for the last remaining warriors on Old Wyk. The landscape of the island, as well as the positions of Castle Goodbrother and Nagga's Ribs were making it an extremely difficult final push for the Skagosi. Luckily, the castle was nearly overrun, the lords Crowl and Stane preparing the final assault at the very moment. Jon, however, was on his way to Nagga's Ribs, where a final counter assault was being mounted by one Andrik the Unsmiling. It was said that Andrik was the greatest warrior on these islands, and Jon hoped to test that. His ship, along with several thousand more men, sailed onward. He mulled over future plans and rubbed his jaw, then ran his fingers over the new scars Victarion had given him. They were three, over his left eye, not touching the left eye itself. The middle one ran all the way up to right above his eyebrow, and ended an inch above his left dimple, even with the bottom of his nostril. The other two started below the eye, directly below the eyelid, and ran until a half of an inch above the ending of the middle one, the one closer to his ear running just a bit longer than the one by his nose.

"You think much, my king," Skulgarth spoke up from behind Jon, voicing an observation Jon had never thought of.

"Aye, Skulgarth, I do," Jon sighed inwardly. War was wonderful, but his what ifs concerning certain people in Westeros bothered and tired him.

"Thinking, no matter how exhausting it is, is a good thing, and a necessary burden for a good king," Skulgarth spoke with confidence and wisdom. "What do you think of?"

"I think of my family in the North, my father in King's Landing with my sisters, my family in Dorne. There are so many possible outcomes to this all, Skulgarth, and we shall fight to the last man, but the chance that my family, as well as our culture, will be wiped off the face of the planet is too great to ignore," Jon answered honestly.

"Hahaha, is that all? Jon, any man of your blood will die with honor and glory, I can assure you of that," Skulgarth boomed, garnering a small smile from Jon, before growing quieter. "Besides, there is a reason why Smalljon is being trained in the Sagart ways, and not just to replace me. If the war does go in another direction, and the Skagosi face genocide, Smalljon and the Terrible Twins will escape with your wife, and all your children. We may die, but Skagos and the Old Ways, our history and heritage, our blood, will live on in your sons, and their sons. I doubt any other Starks will attempt to hunt them down unless they attack the North, and it is unlikely they will be caught with Skagosi sailors transporting them."

Jon couldn't argue with the logic in his statements, and merely nodded. Skulgarth sighed.

"Look, Jon. You think too far ahead. Think about your children, coming to you, your wife waiting for you. Your mother, whichever one you want, your siblings. Think not of negative possibilities, but the positive ones. Think of what you have waiting for you, in between now and the end, if the end does come. Think on the joy, and go rest. You need it, if you are to kill the monster they call the Unsmiling," Skulgarth's hand on Jon's shoulder was comforting, prompting Jon to listen to his words.

"Aye, I may need it," He smiled at the Sap-Veins, "Wake me when we hit Nagga's Ribs."

- **Linebreak** -

When Jon awoke, it was to shouts and thuds, and he figured they were at their destination. On cue, Skulgarth broke in and gave him one look, prompting him to rise from his position under the deck. Upon climbing up top and drinking in the scene, Jon was able to tell the archers from the cliff ahead of them had rained down arrows upon them. For the most part, no one was touched, but Arik had an arrow in the shoulder, a few others had gotten one, and one man was on the ground. When Jon realized it was Darragh, he rushed over.

Darragh's chest was moving, though very rapidly, his axe had fallen out of his grip, just barely, leaning against the edge of his hand and raised above his palm, too high for his fingers, which were the only part moving besides his eyes and chest, to grab. One arrow was lodged in his leg, probably severing the femoral, bleeding wildly and profusely. The second arrow was in his throat, cutting off his air and shooting blood up out of his mouth and protruding from around the arrow. Both arrows were a black wood, the feathers red and white. Both from the same archer, or archers with the same arrows.

Jon dropped to the right of Darragh, knees sinking in to the pool of blood surrounding one of his closest friends. Darragh attempted to raise his hand, and Jon reached down, placing the axe handle in Darragh's hand, closing it around the weapon and wrapping his hands around Darragh's.

"Brother," Jon choked out, unable to muster any clarity in his throat. Darragh spluttered, more blood fountaining from his mouth, running down the sides of his face. His eyes looked in to Jon's and he nodded, his chest moving rapidly for a few more seconds until it stopped. His eyes clouded and still.

"A good life brother, we shall rejoice together in the next," Jon whispered, placing Darragh's hand and axe over the older man's chest, then covering that with Darragh's left hand and shield. The king's legs felt numb as he stood, and his vision went red. He put on his helm, ran past his crew ducking behind the outer wall of the ship, and he vaulted over the side, in to the shallows with the Ironborn who had thought to sneak up on the Skagosi ships.

Jon unsheathed Longclaw and Dawn, slashing both across the chest of the nearest fighter, sending the man in to the shallow waters. Jon met a hack from the axe of the next man with Dawn, thrusting Longclaw through his throat before he had the chance to move. His boot hit the Ironborn's chest, knocking him of Longclaw, allowing Jon to drop Dawn tip first in to the shallows, the sword sticking above the water, and duck under a surprise blow from a squid who thought himself unnoticed from behind Jon. When his wild blow, meant to decapitate the Thirsty Wolf, went awry, he flew forward, and Jon, with both hands wrapped around the grip of Longclaw, swung it sideways at the waist of the coward, pivoting on his feet and torquing as he did, granting him full power towards the body part clad only in a thin, wet tunic. The Valyrian Steel blade cut through the man, Jon's force and the sharpness to the edge of his sword cutting the craven clean in two. The pure brute strength of the savage blow caused many other squids around Jon to falter, allowing him to spin, grip Dawn, and charge once more.

Jon ducked under a spear from the man before him, Dawn biting in to the area right above the man's right hip, Longclaw following closely in to the area above his left collarbone. Jon tore them from the corpse, spinning and batting away a swipe from a longsword. He threw an uppercut with Longclaw, connecting with the man's groin, causing him to bend over, at which point Jon swung downward with all his strength in Dawn, the tip reaching the midpoint of the man's spine and reaching all the to his right collarbone. Dawn cut clean through the man, and Jon roared in rage and bloodlust, turning to see a young warrior, probably a year or two younger than Jon himself, looking terrified of Jon. Stark tore out his swords and the boy threw a wild downward slash, it being caught Dawn, and the Wolf King headbutted the younger man, breaking his nose sending him tripping backwards. He jumped up, his back to Jon, before turning around and receiving a slash from Longclaw, tearing halfway through his skull on the way down, splintering his head in two. The crew of the _Seawolf_ was close behind their captain, and he stormed the beach, spotting the man mounting this counter assault, an old man with a Valyrian Steel sword a red color.

Lord Dunstan Drumm spotted Jon right away, dismounting from his horse and charging forward, his sons charging in to battle beside him. Drumm met Jon in the middle, only a foot or two above the tide, in the soft sand. Drumm jabbed, Red Rain batted aside by Longclaw, Dawn lashing out at Drumm's neck as Jon marched onward. Drumm leaned back to dodge the blade and ended up slipping in the sand, hitting his back and receiving Dawn in his gut, pinning him to the beach. Jon swung left to right with Longclaw, almost completely severing the head of Lord Drumm, the neck now being held by only an inch of flesh in the back. His eldest son Denys rushed Jon from his right, aiming a stab towards the Skagosi king's neck. Jon ducked, swinging Dawn upward and allowing the man to impale himself on it, placing his right hand on Denys's back, Jon ripped out Dawn and shoved the near lifeless body in to his brother Donnel. The Stark put a boot on Denys's back, trapping Donnel and his sword underneath the corpse, before he thrust Longclaw through the skull, on the crook of the nose and the eyes.

As soon as the body began to spasm, Jon retracted his sword and returned to Dunstan Drumm, stabbing his swords in to the sand and kneeling beside the blood fountain that once was the Lord of Old Wyk. With the neck spraying blood all over his face, Jon undid the sheath on the Drumm and fastened it around his waist, grabbing Red Rain and standing up. He swung with the red sword, detaching the head from the body, and sheathed the sword. He grabbed his swords, placing Dawn in it's scabbard but keeping Longclaw in hand, the young warrior grabbed the bald lord's head with his palm on the scalp and ran off towards the battle at the top of the slope leading to the Ribs.

- **Linebreak** -

Ned was unfocused in the Small Council meeting, Robert focused and paying attention to the reports, awaiting any word of the Skagosi from his advisers. The Stag King had not looked better in years, most of the fat being replaced with muscle, and him with his hair short again, though his beard was still big and wild. He wore his plate armor everywhere, his warhammer always on his back. When governing needed done, he payed attention, showing up to meetings and listening to the complaints of the people. The people had begun to whisper about him, good things, and the debt of the Iron Throne was decreasing, frivolous spending being cut down on to save up for the impending war. Even his wife, Queen Cersei, had begun to look at him differently than she had almost a year before when Ned had come South. It seemed that all Robert had needed to be a good king was Ned's word and a war. The only women less happy than before were the whores of King's Landing, amiss without the King's coin.

"Stannis sends a letter from Dragonstone," Renly declared, gaining the attention of the Council and even Robert, who sat up in his seat and stared at Renly, having learned to value Stannis's council almost as much as Ned's, what with them always having the same advice and Robert growing more serious by the day. He only drank after Council meetings or after hearing complaints on the Throne, which even then was not immediate, the Baratheon sorting out orders and duties before relieving the headache, alone in his quarters.

"Well, what does it say?" Robert questioned.

"The fleet is near ready, 400 ships, prepared to set sail on the flip of a coin," Renly answered, smiling.

"Good, good. What else?" Robert asked of the rest of the Council.

"Word all along the coast in Ironman's Bay and the Cap of Eagles, Your Grace," Varys whimpered, "Lords, fisherman and farmers alike say an immense cloud of infinite smoke has flown in to their lands, and when Lord Mallister traveled to the peninsula in between the Cape and the Bay, he saw the Iron Islands on fire. The vast majority of these Wolf Orphans have been showing up on that Coast, it would seem."

Varys's information on the situation shocked the Council deeply, earning a gasp from Renly and Pycelle, and raised eyebrows from Baelish and Cersei who had been allowed to join the meetings in the seat next to Robert, opposite Ned himself.

"So that's where the bastards have gone, eh? Well, can't say anyone's sad to see the shit rocks go," Robert muttered, Cersei snorting at his words. Ned couldn't help but think of Theon, his ward back at Winterfell. Jon and Theon had never liked each other much anyway.

"What are you thinking Ned?" Robert questioned his closest friend and most trusted adviser.

"Well, word has reached my ears from Winterfell, and, apparently… err… this, Thirsty Wolf, would seem to be my second son, Jon, Your Grace," The entire table was staring at him, the whole lot of them, interested and curious.

"What?" Robert asked, expecting either a jest or correction. He got neither.

"At the White Dawn Settlement, where the first raid was, Jon was there with Lord Umber's eldest son. Jon killed the last Magnar, the highest lord on Skagos who had decided to become king. They gave my son his crown, and they follow him. It's confirmed by the stories these children tell of a white direwolf with the Raider King. That's his direwolf, Ghost," Ned answered further.

"What tale from the North?" Baelish asked.

"My son Robb thought the Skagosi had killed Jon, and sent a declaration of war. The messenger returned with a message from Jon, explaining he was leading Skagos, and..." Ned trailed off.

"What is it Ned?" Robert queried.

"The messenger said that, when he was in the throne room in Kingshouse, where the Magnars lived, where Jon lives, there were several skulls and crowns. Jon returned one of these set, and the messenger gave them to Robb. It was the skull of Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf who put the heads of Andals across the coast. As well as the crown of the Starks, which had been lost since Theon Stark. Part of the message Jon sent back said that Theon Stark was hungry, until he picked a fight with Skagos. The messenger said he got a look at the other crowns. A dragon crown, a kraken crown, a giant in chains crown, a flayed man crown, what sounds to be a Greystark crown, and the crown of a Storm King, with it's antlers and stags and all," Ned told the group, his eyes staring off in to the air, lost in thought.

"Ned, this is your boy. What would you have us do?" Robert asked Ned, his voice softer than in a long while.

"I… at least give him a little time to show up, to bend the knee and explain himself, maybe he thought he had no other choice once he got to Skagos," Ned replied, earning a snort of derision from Baelish. The older Stark glared at the man, daring him to say something, but he said nothing.

"Alright Ned, for your sake, we'll wait. Pycelle, send a raven to my brother telling him not to set sail North, to come to King's Landing. We shall not attack, but we must be prepared, in case the Skags do attack King's Landing. Meeting adjourned," Robert ordered, standing up and putting a hand on Ned's shoulder, squeezing it before offering his arm to Cersei who looked at him with some small kindness, taking his arm and leaving the room with two kingsguard in tow. A few others offered some condolence, the rest ignored him, but they all left and Ned resumed the letter he was having sent to the coast, to wait for the Skagosi.

 _Dear Jon, My Son_

- **Linebreak** -

When Jon reached the point behind his shield lines, at the top of the slope, they were stuck at a standstill. Arrows were fired down at them every now and again, and sometimes a man, either Skagosi or Ironborn, would go tumbling off the cliff on each side of the slope, but mostly everybody was stuck where they were. Some men grunted, some men yelled, but Jon growled with impatience. He stepped on top of the body of a dead Ironborn who everybody had been stepping over, and lifted himself up higher to look, Skulgarth raising a shield for him to duck behind if need be. He looked, a sturdy line of squid shields, three deep, fourteen wide, archers spread out behind them, along with men without shields, but with axes and swords, waiting for the battle to commence. Then, there, in the middle, one of the largest men Jon had ever seen. He was an inch taller than Greatjon Umber, just as broad, and looked sterner than the Umber too. In his left hand was a bow, an axe and shield at his belt. On his back was the quiver of arrows. Jon strained his eyes, black shaft, red and white feathers. So, this Andrik the Unsmiling cunt had shot Darragh. The man turned his head, making eye contact with Jon, both glaring at each other. Jon dropped down from the corpse just as an arrow shot where he used to be in the air. He moved forward, marching through his own lines, parting them directly down the middle.

When Jon reached right behind the middle two of his very front line, he shouted.

"Hey Andrik, you I didn't know they made cowards that big. I killed your lord, then his son who was lord after him, then his son's brother who was lord after him, yet here you stand," Jon tossed the head of Lord Dunstan Drumm over the lines, landing a foot before Andrik's feet. The large man stepped forward, marching towards Jon, and the two forces each backed up, parting to allow the leaders through. When they were both through the lines, there was an open area to fit men fourteen by fourteen. The Stark made sure his helm was on tight as Andrik drew his axe and shield, and Jon drew Dawn, Longclaw already in hand.

The two warriors met in the middle, and Jon jabbing at Andrik's shield with Longclaw and Andrik swinging sideways with his axe. Jon rolled underneath the axe, dodging the powerful blow and gaining the high ground, essential against an opponent this large. Andrik turned, swinging again with the axe, followed up by a sideways blow with the edge of the shield when Jon dodged the axe. The shield caught Jon in the helm, sending him spinning to the side, all the way to the edge. His head hung off the cliff, his body still on land, and when he looked up, Andrik was above him. He rolled to the right, avoiding the axe. Andrik slammed his shield, edge first, in to the ground on Jon's right, trapping the smaller men. Jon stabbed Longclaw in to Andrik's right bicep, then Dawn in to Andrik's left thigh. The giant's right knee hit the ground, the shield and his knee trapping Jon. He had dropped the axe because of Longclaw, but he ripped the sword out and struck Jon across the face, not too hard, but stunning Jon. His hands wrapped around Jon's throats, and Jon tried to push Andrik off of him. His mind went hazy.

He was seeing dots dance in his vision, and he was losing consciousness. He saw visions, Arianne holding a babe lighter than her but darker than Jon, smiling at him and telling him to come on. His Dayne mother, smiling with tears streaming down her face, holding her arms out towards him, to embrace him. His father placing his hands on his shoulders, giving him that small smile he reserved for only his children. His brothers and siblings, each motioning him onward. He saw Darragh, smiling and happy, with two arrows still in him and blood pouring from his grin. Jon was angry, and happy. He was motivated.

His vision balanced a bit more, and he reached up, wrapping his hands around Andrik's neck and bringing it downward, strongly and quickly, slamming his head upward in to Andrik's nose. The Unsmiling shot backward, roaring. Jon hit him in the throat with a palm strike from his left hand, then a punch with the right, connecting with the man's jaw. The Stark reached down and ripped Northwind out of it's sheath on his belt, slamming it into the older man's barrel chest as hard as he could. The force pushed Andrik backward, making him stand up to not lose his footing. Jon's hand shot out, ripping Dawn out of the thick leg as he stood up, earning another roar. He stood, grabbing Longclaw and slashing downward with both swords at perpendicular angles, Longclaw across the face, Dawn across the stomach. Jon stepped forward and stabbed both swords in to the ground, using them to help him jump in to the air and kick both feet in to Andrik's chest, one hitting next to Jon's knife, the other hitting the pommel of Jon's knife, knocking Andrik on to his ass and sending Jon backwards, almost rolling completely off the cliff. His hands gripped the top, however, and he hoisted himself back on to the top, his feet kicking the cliffside.

Once on his feet again, Jon walked forward, in between his two swords, and unsheathed Red Rain. He stopped by the side of the giant warrior on his hands and knees. Uttering no words, Jon swung Red Rain downward with both hands, hitting Andrik in the neck, but not going completely through. The body went limp and hit the ground, and Jon swung the sword again and again, finally severing the head from the body. He roared, and the Skagosi forces charged the Ironborn, their lines compromised, unsuspecting, surprised Andrik was defeated. Jon sheathed Red Rain, grabbed his swords and knife, sheathed them, grabbed Andrik's head, and started up to the top. The Skagosi were cutting through the Ironborn, and before long, all the men were dead, and the cowards who had surrendered were being shoved off the sides of the cliff. Jon reached the top of the slope, the ground evened out, and he spotted the Seastone Chair at the end of Nagga's Ribs. He walked up to the throne and dropped in to it, placing Andrik's head in his lap.

"You've done well, Jon" Skulgarth said from his side, his hand on Jon's shoulder.

"Aye, I suppose," Jon replied, rubbing his face, exhausted.

"I mean it, Stark," Skulgarth retorted, "Before this, you were mostly a greenboy, even after the settlement, even after Sharp Point, even after the Dornish mountain tribes. You were secretly judged by veteran killers, men who waited to see if you would fail. You did not, men died, but men always die. You led a successful campaign against an ancient foe, the descendants of traitors, a people treasonous by birth, the greatest living insult to Skagos and the Old Ways. You won a war, no matter how short it was. When you took the heads of Balon and Lord Drumm, and now Andrik the Unsmiling, you cemented yourself further in to the Weirwood throne. None shall deny you. You are the Harbinger of Doom, by the grace of the Gods. Now, we drop off the children, we go back to Dorne, you get your woman, we go back home, to prepare for another war and to marry you and get you children."

"Aye, Skulgarth, but when the sunrise has come and all our men have joined us here. I would see the sunrise from this cliff, if possible through the smoke, and I would count our forces. Learn how many we've lost. Use the empty ships to run into the towers on Pyke when we sail by there." Jon stared off at the horizon, waiting for the sun to show up, if it would.

- **Linebreak** -

When the Stone fleet left the Iron Islands, sailing past Pyke as some unneeded ships were pushed in to the towers of Pyke sending them crashing in to the ocean, they had around 315 ships and 11,000 men, having lost 4,000 warriors. Jon felt the effect, even if others declared the casualties were only one fifth that of the Ironborn, without including the women and relocated children. Still, Jon was glad to have had his brothers die worthy deaths, but those were four men who would have been very valuable in the future. They were burned on Old Wyk and Pyke, Great Wyk and Harlaw, Saltcliffe, Orkmont, and Blacktyde. They burned on top of the ashes of a fallen civilization, on top of their victory, their glory.

A group of seven ships approached them from the East, their sails a silver eagle on purple. House Mallister. When the lead ship pulled beside the _Seawolf_ , a voice yelled over the side, asking to come aboard. When permission was granted, a wide plank was put between the slightly taller ship and the King's longship. A man walked down it, brown hair with white in it, chiseled features, sharp blue-gray eyes. A year earlier, Jon would have felt intimidated. Now he felt only amusement and impatience with this Southern lord. When he finally came on deck, he had two men, behind him, and Jon stepped forward with Ghost and Skulgarth.

"Are you Jon Stark?" The lord asked, his eyes attempting to pierce the younger man, only to find that the gray eyes returning his stare were haunting, seemingly looking in to his soul and not caring for what he saw.

"Aye, that would be me. Who are you?" Jon replied, unable to keep the impatience and slight demand out of his tone, reflecting that of a king.

"I am Lord Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard," When Jon just looked at him, unimpressed, Mallister handed him a scroll, "A letter, from your father." Jon took the scroll in hand, inwardly anxious to get it open, outwardly impatient with the meeting at hand.

"Is this all that you have come for, Lord Mallister?" Jon was eager to leave for Dorne, and if this lord wasted much more of his time, Jon would kill him and his crews.

"No, my king has requested I tell you that he awaits you in King Landing, should you decide to go you will have the full guest right, given to you upon entering the bay. And, that I am to check on the state of the islands yonder," Lord Mallister stated, honestly. Several men behind Jon laughed at the last part.

"Well, my lord, it is in no state to entertain guests, I can tell you that much, now, if you'll excuse me, I am in a rush," Jon stated, shaking hands with Jason Mallister. The coastal Riverlands lord nodded and boarded his ship, sailing off towards Pyke. Jon and the Stone Fleet sailed for the coast.

- **Linebreak** -

The rocks of Starfall shined bright in the distance, the sands of the Southern beach just as bright. The welcoming party was the most beautiful party Jon had ever seen, tying for first with the initial Skagosi raiding party on Sharp Point. His Dornish family stood on the beach, Arianne, Ashara, and Allyria, with two people's luggage, smiling as the Skagosi fleet stopped at sea, the _Seawolf_ coming to shore.

When they finally hit the beach, Jon didn't wait and vaulted over the side, landing in a crouch. He rose up and walked towards his betrothed, and ended up running towards her when she began running. They met in the middle, crushing each other in a hug, and soon enough, a kiss. When they broke apart, Arianne stroked the new scars over and under his left eye, worried looking, until Jon grabbed her hand and kissed it, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. She smiled, blushed, and when Jon meant to open his mouth, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly, answering his question before he could ask it. A grin broke out on his face and he picked her up, spinning her around to her laughter before setting her down and kissing her again. When he broke away and turned, his mother was already before him, crushing him in a hug. She kissed him on the cheek, on the bottom of his scars.

"Welcome back, sweet boy," She whispered in his ear. After she broke from him, Jon hugged his Aunt Allyria, and began going for their stuff,

"Come now, my ladies, we must be going, home is far from here, and we have two more stops before we get there."

- **Linebreak** -

After resupplying in Dorne, greeting the Martells and giving them the news of the baby on the way, they had feasted, and rested for a night. Then, it was back on towards the North, and as they grew nearer to King's Landing, Jon read over his father's letter again.

 _Dear Jon, My Son,_

 _I know you have done things, things I may not approve of. I know that there was a wolf inside you that you needed to unleash, I know the titles you hold, some of the larger acts you have committed. But you are still my son, and I hope that you'll come to King's Landing, if not to make peace with Robert, then to visit me. I would send word to your mother and brothers in Winterfell on your well-being. I am sure Sansa and Arya would like to see you as well. Maybe while you're here you can correct some of these damned bards on their stories of you._

 _With Love,_

 _Your Father_

Jon was unsure on what to do, but he realized that it had been a year since the day he had left home, he was fifteen. A boy by most standards, a man by the Skagosi's. Looking at the letter, Jon made a decision, and told Arianne she would be going North on the _Watergiant_ without him, for now.

- **Linebreak** -

A man had been waiting at the corner of the bay in a rowboat with salt, bread, and water for an entire crew from the Red Keep. Jon had wordlessly taken it and split it amongst his crew, his mother, and himself, even going so far as to give Ghost some. When they docked, Jon had left ten of his sixty something men left on the boat, eight men led by Arik, recovering from his wound, and Kira, looking after Arik. Originally, none of them had wanted to be there OR go on land considering the smell, but they obeyed their order well enough. Skulgarth, Ghost, and Jon's mother Ashara walked next to Jon, fifty something men behind them as they approached the Red Keep, a pale, peachy sun bleached red, tall enough that Jon was sure Bran would have a grand time climbing it, that is, if he could climb it. Taking his minds from such negative thoughts, Jon looked at the guards on the gate, and one in a Lannister helm nodded at him, turning and leading them indoors, down halls and towards large double doors.

When they entered the throne room, Jon couldn't help but be slightly amazed by the grandeur. The only thing keeping the amazement slight was Jon's disinterest in such trivial and lavish things. Now, when Jon looked at the group of people at the end, particularly the one on the throne, he WAS surprised. On the throne was the man who could have been nobody but the Baratheon king. He was slimmer, more muscled, in shape and with a tamer beard and hair. The crown on his head contrasted deeply with Jon's, Robert's so gold and bright, Jon's so iron and dark. Jon stopped a bit farther down the hall, catching sight of his father and sisters next to the throne, opposite the king's family.

"Arya, Sansa!" Jon yelled, laughing and catching them when they jumped in to his arms. He set them down after a moment of hugging.

"By the Gods, you two have grown! What have they been feeding you two here? Better slow down on it before you get fat," Jon laughed and Arya kicked his leg above the armor, Sansa slapping his arm beneath it. Jon turned towards his father, and they both looked at each other for a moment, just staring, until they both stepped forward and embraced each other.

"Jon," Eddard spoke, breaking apart and holding his son at arms length. He looked his second son up and down, Jon now on the same height as him at 6'2".

"By the Gods you've grown tall. You'll be tall like your Uncle Brandon," Ned spoke.

"Or his Uncle Arthur," Ashara spoke from behind Jon. Ned looked shocked she was here, then uncomfortable.

"Ashara."

"Eddard."

"Where are my manners? King Robert, this is my direwolf Ghost, one of my mothers, Ashara, and Skulgarth, my Holy Man."

"You know the people you need to know, King Jon, I suggest we get to business," Robert was no patient man to exchange pleasantries.

"I thought you never would," Jon replied, smirking mischievously, with a hint of feral bloodlust and savagery.

"In a moment, all the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms shall join me, save for Prince Doran of Dorne, who will be replaced by Oberyn Martell. As you were courteous enough to accept my invitation, and as you are Ned's boy, I would have a council of all the great lords decide how to proceed," Robert stated, the title of boy earning an unhappy rumble from Skulgarth.

"A problem, Holy Man?" Jaime Lannister teased.

"Aye, _boy_ , your king should learn not to treat a warrior his better with such blatant disrespect by calling him a boy. I'd wager my life on my king over any of you soft Southerners, any day," Most of the people in the room seemed insulted, though their outrage was soon interrupted by the entrance of the great lords of Westeros.


	12. Chapter 12: Lord Reaper

**A.N. We just hit 60 reviews, thank you ladies and gentleman. Almost to 200 follows, lovin' the feedback. Maybe y'all really enjoyed, as SkepticalSteven put it, Balon's Tony Soprano robe. Oh and this. Just to say sorry, I'll put out a chapter tomorrow, and Saturday, and Sunday. I don't think I'll be puttin' out chapters on weekdays anymore, but I'll put as many out on weekends as I can. School is tirin' and when I get home the last thing I wanna do is write more stuff, so I'll think shit up on the weekdays, mull it over, write and type on weekends. The knight later on is better than he is presented than in the books, I always liked him as a character, it's a shame GRRM did him dirty the way he did.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 12: Lord Reaper of the Northern Hemisphere**

Jon sat at a table with the Small Council and the Lords Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms, as well as King Robert Baratheon I himself, and Queen Cersei, and even the High Septon. The table was in the Throne room, Robert's seat at the head of the table being five feet in front of the steps leading up to the throne. Cersei was to his right, the Kingsguard standing behind them, save for Ser Barristan Selmy who sat opposite the queen. Jon's father sat in the very middle of the table, Varys opposite him, to show his neutrality in the situation. Jon was at the end of the long table opposite the only other king in the room, Skulgarth on his right and his mother on his left. The rest of the crew of the _Seawolf_ who had come with them sat closer towards the doors, attempting to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Food was set out, and the conversations were terse. The atmosphere tense until a bard came in, beginning to play his self composed ballad, the Regaling of the Reaper of Reavers.

"Fifteen thousand men, breached the shores of Iron,

Spilling blood and taking gold,

The Reaper came for the debt owed him,

And with the swing of a sword he took his souls,

The Kraken said 'What are you to challenge me,

A beast of balls, what sort?',

The Reaper said 'We are Wolves, dear King of the Western sea,

And on land I'll have your throat',

So said the Stone to the Iron,

The stone that broke the sword,

On the beaches of Wyk or the towers of Pyke,

Blood was spilled for glory and for war,

'You cannot kill me', roared from the Kraken's maw,

As his lands burned bright like coal,

'I can and I shall', The specter spoke, we all must play our roles,

And with that, he broke, the Kraken's jaw and then it's skull,

And with that, he broke, the Kraken's laws and then it's soul,"

The singer's performance was met with stares by the lords he had meant to entertain, but with laughter and cheers from the Skagosi killers farther down the long hall. When the king, Robert not Jon, dismissed him, he hurried down towards those men, being met with enthusiasm and joy at his hard work. The clutter on the table was removed by servants, and Tywin Lannister, ever the forceful one, broke the silence from his spot several seats up on Jon's left.

"May we get on with this, whatever this is," Tywin asked of the entire table, inadvertently demanding a yes, "I've business to attend to in my lands."

"Aye, we shall," Robert begrudged, "First, we will speak of the punishment for the crimes of Skagos, whatever the outcome of the next topic shall be, this is an answer we must reach."

"Which crimes? So far, the crimes we've committed haven't been too serious," Jon returned, "Maybe Sharp Point, but besides that, several villages along the coast, full of people these lords would normally bully, who are only defended now by highborn pricks who feel insulted by the blatant disregard for people, places and things they regard as theirs. Like a child angry that a toy they outgrew is now in the hands of another, these lords would throw a fit. I gave those men and women honor," The lords in question were fit to burst in anger, Oberyn dying from laughter on the inside.

"You gave them the honor of your sword," Lord Yohn Royce, who filled the spot of Lord of the Vale in absence of Robert Arryn, stated, a bit shocked by Jon's lack of remorse.

"Aye," Jon nearly roared, "There is no honor greater than that of death by combat, you would remember that, all of you, if you had not abandoned the Gods for these false idols and ways, represented by a fat snake in unnecessary jewels who reeks of whores and perfumes."

"Villages are not all you slew, Stark," Baelish spoke, calm but seemingly angry.

"Oh, so no title Baelish? You must still be angry over the keep. You should have been there to protect it, my lord, at least, that's the thought that ran through my mind when I put my spear through that old man's throat, what was his name again?" Jon responded to Baelish, causing the smaller man's face to turn red.

"Aside from a keep, a few villages, the only 'crimes' me and my mine have committed are Sharp Point and the Iron Islands. I'll take the idea that I should be charged for Bar Emmon, that is at least understandable in some way, but I will refuse to take any charges for the Ironborn scum I put down. No man here thinks Westeros was better with them, and every man knows Westeros is better without them. I shall not be lied to and have my intelligence insulted by some soft, petty, Southern bunch who wish to see those they fear rot. Now, Sharp Point. Aye, we'll accept some deal over Sharp Point, though I'm not sure why."

"What do you mean, you don't know why?" Stannis Baratheon seethed, and Jon was reminded that the Lord Bar Emmon was the middle Stag brother's bannerman.

"Well, no man dared to punish Lord Tywin Lannister over the Reynes of Castamere," Jon retorted smoothly and confidently.

"You own no rights over the-" Stannis started.

"I own the only right that matters!" Jon laughed. "I own the right of might. The right of might is what won you all this city and that crown. My men are the terror of the Narrow Sea, and have destroyed the only legitimate contender of anybody in the West. THAT is might. When the Swordfish fights the Direwolf, by what right does the Stag judge the victor?"

"Look, my lords, we can get to the matter of these trivial facts and punishments after we establish what must be established," Varys simpered, "In order to produce a proper judgment, I'm afraid we must know whether the Skagosi consider themselves within reach of punishment, or merely within reach of a deal of payment?"

"Aye, it's time," Robert announced. He stood from his chair by the Iron Throne, his armor shining in the torchlight and his warhammer aching to be released from his back. "Will you kneel, King Jon? Or shall there be war?"

"We do not kneel," Jon declared, rising from his seat at the table, his hands itching to move towards Longclaw and Dawn. "But, there is no need for war. As fun as war is to my men and I, we all have our own problems. You have a waiting promise in Jalabhar Xho, who has been waiting for you to fulfill your word on helping to reinstate him in the Summer Islands. For us, there are three Iron shits left, Theon, Asha, and Euron. My lands must work to replace the 4,000 or so we lost putting the squids out of our misery. But, it is understood that you can not simply stay your hand on this matter for a previous engagement. So, let's make it interesting. A trial by combat. To decide whether or not Skagos deserves its independence or not."

Robert looked surprised, and the reactions varied around the table. Several seemed shocked, some suspicious, Lord Tywin looked disappointed that Jon seemed to be another blood lusting idiot, and Jon's father seemed to not know whether to beg or curse the idea of a trial by combat. Skulgarth smiled, confident in Jon's ability to finish the problem produced by this proposal, Jon's mother much the same.

"Aye, it shall be so," Robert thundered after a moment. Cersei grasped his hand, giving him a pleading look. He returned a calm one. "You or your best against mine. I think I know just the warrior," and Robert turned to his father-in-law.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon stood across the paved clearing from a monstrous figure, six foot tall, vicious. His longsword sat in his hands, waiting to be used, and his white cloak fluttered with the wind. A knight. Not just any knight, as Oberyn's look from the stands could attest. Jon remembered Oberyn's words. _Not the death the m_ _an_ _deserves, but a death nonetheless. Deliver it, and if he should be so lucky as to strike a blow on you, well, that is what the substance is for._

The substance in question was Widow's Blood, Jon knew. It coated his swords and his daggers, and his spear sat in the stands, next to Oberyn. They had no chance to train beforehand, so the swords would do. He knew that partly because of the swords, partly because of Arys's armor, cloak and reputation, Arys was the favorite in this confrontation. So, the Widow's Blood most assuredly didn't hurt his odds.

"By the power invested in me by the Gods, I, Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I do bid this trial by combat to commence," Robert's voice drummed out over the voices of the crowd, forcing silence.

Ser Arys Oakheart, formerly of the Reach and now of the Kingsguard marched forward in step with Jon to meet in the middle. His eyes held neither fear nor hate, but caution and determination nonetheless. Whether he was on the same level as Ser Barristan or Ser Jaime, Jon knew not, however, his character could not be doubted. When they were but five feet from each other, Jon's hands flew up, gripping his swords and ripping them out of the scabbards, driving both blades downward in a vicious hack, just as Arys was forced to raise his sword to block. Longclaw and Dawn, with the force of the Stark's slightly taller but just as broad frame, were able to push Ser Arys's sword down and grant enough time for Jon's boot to connect with the Kingsguard knight's breastplate. Ser Arys stumbled back, but to his credit, did not lose his feet and quickly regained his balance. His shield, the pure white kite, was tossed to him by his squire, and he advanced with it raised in front of him, his longsword laying on the edge of the shield, pointing at Jon. Jon quickly stepped forward, pretending to swing Longclaw so that the white wall of wood would rise up, granting Jon the opportunity to step forward and kick again, this time jumping to add more weight to the kick. Ser Arys stumbled back, tripping this time, and falling behind the pure ferocity in the kick.

Ser Arys recovered, though with a bit of a struggle, Jon noticed, even if the other hundreds of people didn't. The man was a knight and wore full plate armor with mail, rather than breastplate, bracers, metal shins and helm (as well as a metal under-covering for his crotch, just in case). The effect of the weight of the armor on Arys when he got up would hit him sooner or later, Jon knew.

Oakheart stepped forward again, swinging his own blade in response to the waiting Jon's kicks. Jon stepped in and to Arys's right, making a shield bash impossible as he blocked the blade with Dawn. The shield raised however to protect from an overhead thrust, and Jon stomped down and outward on the metal covered right knee of this white knight. The knee was not broken, under protection from the armor, but it was pushed back and Ser Arys hit his knee. Jon didn't wait for him to recover this time.

Jon swung Longclaw downward at the shield, while also rotating his left wrist to bring Dawn downward, in the same motion one would use to make a thumbs up, a thumbs down. The Dayne longsword blocked the inevitable counter blow at the same time as Jon's strike caught the white shield at an angle, so that it did not catch the sword, rather, pushing the shield down and allowing the sword's tip to scrape against the helm of the knight, screeching a horrible scream that made many an ear feel as if it was bleeding. Ser Arys eyes had squinted at the harsh sound directly in his face, next to his head where it would be the loudest. With his eyes so narrow, Jon quickly stepped further in, driving his knee in to the weak and thin armor of the knight's chin. It crashed in to his jaw so violently that one could hear a few teeth shatter behind the impact, ensuring that the handsome Ser Arys would never be as handsome as he once was. The heavier and older man hit his back, crashing as he impacted with the ground for the second time. Jon stepped back.

Ser Arys appeared angered, and Jon's plan had finally clicked in to place. The knight was trying even harder than before to come back up, though it appeared a bit more difficult. Once Arys was on his feet, Jon got a good look at him, his brown eyes wild and frustrated. He thrust forward, leaping as he did so, and Jon turned, allowing the blade to fly past him as he stuck his leg and hip out and in to Arys, gripping his head and jerking him over and on to the ground for the third time. Arys stood again, harder than before, charging again and swinging, wild and unpredictable. Jon turned and twisted, jumping and dodging the blade of the elder enraged warrior. Every now and again, Jon would quickly grind one of his blades against some mail, weakening or cutting through it, or hitting the blade aside easily with one of his own. Arys pretended to thrust at Jon's leg, instead jumping to headbutt him. Jon was no fool and stuck his shoulder down and out, jumping in to the oncoming armored man and putting his shoulder where his knee had already been. When knocked back, Ser Arys still swung his mailed fist, smashing in to Jon's head. Jon responded by stepping forward ducking under an arm, reaching a foot behind the knight's legs and driving it in to the back of the knee. When the knight hit his knees, Jon jumped behind him completely, swinging one sword, then the other, as hard as he could in to the back of the helm without losing his grip on them. The ringing was headache inducing for Ser Arys.

The young Oakheart warrior rose, livid, but obviously physically tired. He ripped his helm off, presenting his fiery brown eyes and bloody face to the crowd and Jon. A stray shard of a tooth was stuck to his cheek by blood from his mouth. He came forward once more, his sword came down and Jon blocked with Longclaw. The Stark stepped to his own right on the left side of the tired man and swung Dawn at the base of the blade of the sword still being supported by Longclaw. When the second sword of the first Stark Skagosi struck the castle-forged sword once again, this time with Jon's full force, it broke the other blade, shards flying as Jon stuck his head down, covering his face and neck, everything else vital covered. Ser Arys was not so lucky. A few smaller pieces flew in to his face, no doubt hitting his eyes. As he roared from that, Dawn continued in it's path, ending lodged deeply in to the man's foot and boot. When his head reared back to cry in pain and keep the blood from streaming in to his mouth, Jon lunged forward, driving his shoulder in to his strike as he drove the sword Longclaw in to Arys a few inches under the chin, exiting from the top of his head, even raising Arys off his feet an inch due to the blow being of Jon's full strength.

As the body went still when it's feet hit the ground again, and as the crowd went deathly silent, Jon ripped out his swords from the standing corpse, said corpse collapsing to the ground. When silence ensued, Jon crouched, wiping his trusty blades off on the white cloak of the dead man before him, before rising and re-sheathing the near legendary duo. He turned and gazed upon the quiet crowd.

While Arys was no Arthur Dayne, he was an extremely skilled knight, one of the best in the entire kingdom, one of a very few worthy of his spot in the Kingsguard. The best one the royal family would afford to lose, and a good man. Because of this, more often than night, the spectator's faces showed shock and disbelief. A savage of Skagos had killed one of their heroes without suffering any injuries, or even a serious lack of energy. The box of notable nobles and knights had a wider variety of expressions and reactions than the lesser lords. The Tywin and Cersei looked at him with narrowed eyes, watching, Tyrion and Jaime looked upon him with interest, likewise for Baelish, Selmy, Renly and Varys. His sisters and father looked at him with surprise. Skagosi spectators looked on in enjoyment, as it was entertaining, but as if it was a common occurrence, which it had become, to see their leader decimate some impressive foe. However, Robert and Stannis looked on him with frustration and annoyance. They had just lost a skilled knight and came no closer to their goals for it. However, a deal was a deal, as the High Septon's face confirmed.

"Well… the Gods seem to have saw you and yours fit to be free from your responsibilities and fealties, King Stark," Robert spoke, his voice hard and begrudging.

"Your Grace, you can not seriously consider letting this heathenous savage leave after how he disrespected your own Seven?" The High Septon squealed, face red.

"Does even your own faith mean so little to you that you would fall back from the pact you made with your own supposed religion, Septon Snake?" Jon spoke out, removing his helm, his voice resonating and vibrating before he had done so. "Maybe, perhaps, you are angry that your Gods favored me over you, if they exist. Perhaps, you are angry that your Gods fought mine here, and lost horribly."

"Silence, King Stark. Not in my lands. Speak as you will in yours, but these are mine," Robert nearly shouted, looking to be in serious need of a drink.

"Aye, then me and mine shall be taking our leave, after a farewell to my family, that is," Jon stated with his head inclined at Sansa, Arya, and Ned. Robert nodded stiffly and left, Cersei and Selmy close behind him.

- **Linebreak** -

"No, no, it goes like this," Arik, who had a decent singing voice, instructed to Cryus the Crier, the dark-skinned, fair-voiced bard who had written the Regaling of the Reaper of Reavers, which had been shortened to the Reaper of Reavers upon several suggestions by Jon's men. Cryus's parents had come from the Summer Islands to Westeros, hoping for a better life than theirs, which had allowed him to chase his dreams of singing.

He had had no want to travel to Skagos originally, but upon learning that there were songs known by Skagosi that nobody else knew, as they had never come to Skagos, well… Plus, the knowledge that Jon had plans to turn the Bloody Bay, the port on the Southern side of Skagos (which had been the place that had influenced the name of the Bloody Gate), in to the greatest, richest, and largest city in the North, Cryus had to come with them. Besides, as ruthless and bloodthirsty as the Skagosi were, they appreciated the vocal arts, and did not viciously criticize Cryus, instead offering constructive criticisms, noting what sounded good and clear, what was bad or vague.

"Oh, I've sailed all the four seas,

Got a count of bodies to my name,

As well as a few bottles of Fire,

And a fine damn bonny dame,

I've seen the snows of the North,

In Dorne I saw the sun and sand,

I raided along the Andalos shore,

And all men know me a wanted man,

I shall never see my son again,

I shall never see my love,

But blood and seas are my love once more,

I swear that on my brothers above,

You can take the raider out Skagos,

You won't take Skagos out the raider,

Sea and steel are what we live,

To neither man nor god do we cater,"

Arik finished up A Skagosi's Pledge, taught to every young boy who wished to be a raider when he grew up. The last few lines were sang by all men, even whispered by Jon who had learned it by hearing it from the crew on the way South then West and back. Skulgarth started this time, with the Day the Mountains Cried.

"On top of the mountain sat the mighty Aodhfin, (pronounced _effin_ )

In his view and in his stream a man,

Aodhfin rose and roared a …"

Jon's eyes started to drift closed, listening to Skulgarth spin the time-tested tale of Liam and his sword, and Aodhfin and his fire, and how the snows melted and the mountains cried when Liam had finally slew the Skagosi's greatest adversary, their most respected foe. The idea of one's greatest enemy dying was a sad one in Skagosi culture, drawing unshed tears from a few of the men, though they hid it well. The Skagosi treated true warriors as their own kin, brothers in spirit, and for a beast of pure strength and ferocity to finally die was rather depressing. Finally, Jon's eyes closed to the sound of Skulgarth finishing the song, booming and wailing as all men staggered in emotion.

- **Linebreak** -

When they entered the Bloody Bay, in between the two huge walls of black and gray rock with men on top of them, Jon smelled the air deeply, sighing and smiling after he did. _Home_. It was called the Bloody Bay as the blood of Arnol the Andal and his men had crept out of the Crimson Cove after Seamus Steele and his Skagosi crews had lured the invaders in there under the guise of Seamus having ran in there, wounded and alone, attempting to escape them. Instead, they sailed in to the Crimson Cove and never left. There had been so many, and so much blood, most of the rocks and plant life had been dyed red, giving the cove a red light to it. Any blood that did not stain the rock and plants bled out in to the bay, and this is the place where the Lord of Skagos would behead foreigner criminals, letting their life blood seep in to the waters in front of all the merchants, the fish nibbling at the body to help give the traders a strong impression of justice. It was a rather beautiful port, as was the cove, but their reputation of violence made their beauty unappreciated by any who did not share the Skagosi belief. Though, the Andals and other First Men were eager to let it influence them and theirs in certain ways without giving due credit. After all, the Bloody Gate in the Eyrie had been bloody enough, but the idea of the name had come from a traveler who had visited Skagos. No mention was made by the Arryns.

Jon had only come here for the Bloody Bay, to speak with Lord Daigh Crowl, his trusted Lord of Deepdown, on matters concerning business and construction over the port. It would become richer under Jon than even White Harbor, they would make sure of that. Then, he would move on horseback with his mother through the mountains, through unicorn passes and man made paths, greeting smaller chieftains who were under the command of the lords, as well the folk who farmed what they could, or mined or herded unicorn or goats or anything they could. His people. His island had over 50,000 people on it, and he would become as familiar with as many of them as he could. He would meet Arianne at Deepdown, where she waited for him upon his request. He wanted to show her Kingshouse himself. His ship and crew would sail to the Northeastern shore, at the point nearest and most accessible to Kingshouse.

Finally, the _Seawolf_ hit the dock, Jon jumping overboard on to it. He moved forward and embraced Lord Daigh, once his greatest critic, now one of greatest allies after the campaign in the Iron Islands. The dark haired man, only a bit taller than Jon, albeit stockier, laughed as he embraced his king. They moved apart, smiling and jesting with each other. Lord Crowl greeted Jon's mother, and the members of Jon's crew that he knew such as Skulgarth. He had known Darragh, a distant cousin and pride inducing warrior for House Crowl, but Darragh was no more, having burnt on Old Wyk.

"So, Daigh, what state is the Bay in?" Jon asked, curious as to how well it was doing.

"Well, Jon, it could be better, but it could be worse. More traders are coming in than usual, though still not enough to be sizable," Daigh Crowl responded easily, staring at the port with a disappointed look.

"Well, as you are the most gold-fluent man on Skagos, I ask you, what can be done to increase trade?" Jon asked. He knew Crowl was excited about this opportunity to improve the market in Bloody Bay, not just because it would increase wealth for his house, but also because it was a necessary tool for all of Skagos, one the Lords Magnar had always denied him, out of fear of becoming Southern.

"Well, for starters, brothels would help immensely. When the only women for fun here are daughters of fishermen who'd kill mainland warriors with nothing more than a stick and a hook for looking at their daughters, there's no fun for traders or their crews. I spoke to a proprietor in King's Landing, the Chataya woman, the Summer Islander. If we were to create a brothel or two, she would be happy to send her daughter, Alayaya to run them, as well as some girls to fill them. We give her a small percentage of the profit, her girls get their share, and Chataya's name becomes a brand, to be recognized by all men who sail the seas."

"Alright, what else?" The two walked and talked, Jon's mother, Ghost, and Cadeyrn trailing behind. The _Seawolf_ had already set sail for Kingshouse.

"Second, taverns, inns. Women are not the only entertainment sailors want, especially when they get an addiction to our special ale. After the drinking and whoring, they enjoy sleeping, and not in a cot on their ship, even if they love the sea."

"Of course, you shall have as much of the loot from the Iron Islands to make these things happen, anything else?"

"Well, Jon, an actual currency would be good. We could use dragons and stags, but we have neither on Skagos, nor do we care for either of any, save for the tale of Aodhfin. We cannot continue doing business with horns and pelts. Besides, every nation worth their own weight has it's own currency, and merchants recognize that, they will not come to the Kingdom of Skagos to trade if it trades with the money of Westeros," Daigh finished up.

"Of course, Daigh. You are the leader of this specific venture, and whatever you feel must be done, shall. We have gold and silver and bronze, in ingots and coins both, from Dorne, the Squid Sea, and a few mines here on Skagos. We shall make them our own, give them our own design, we have a goldsmith or three, and they shall begin as soon as possible. The gold with the direwolf on one side, an outline of Skagos on the other. The silver with your sigil and Lord Stane's on opposite sides. The bronze with a unicorn and a longship," Jon listed off, Daigh nodding his assent. When they came to the end of the wooden docks, and their feet hit ground, Daigh grabbed the reins of two horses waiting. He handed the reins to Ashara who thanked him as her and Jon mounted their steeds, and they set off.

- **Linebreak** -

When they finally reached Deepdown, the sun was almost completely gone on the second day back at the island. The trio on their horses and the direwolf had taken a while to reach the lead's home, having stopped in a minor mining village along the way and had stopped to greet, jest and drink, as well as rest, with the men, women, and children there, who had seemed considerably warmer to Jon than almost anybody had been his first time on Skagos. He was a proved man now, and they loved him for asserting Skagosi Pride.

Deepdown was a beautiful place, though no place had seemed quite as breathtaking as it would have before since Jon had witnessed Kingshouse in all it's glory. Still, Deepdown was a respectable hold, sturdy and old, beautiful in a simple, majestic way, despite the Crowls being the richest men on Skagos. The castle was not the most beautiful thing Jon could see though. At the gate waiting for him was Arianne.

When Jon dropped off his horse, Arianne ran at him, glowing and crushing him in a hug, both smiling and laughing. Jon took off his crown so as not to let it drop when he reached down to pick her up and hug her. When they finally parted, Jon greeted Loch who had been watching Deepdown in his father's stead. They all went inside, and feasted to the King's return.

- **Linebreak** -

When they came up over the final ridge and Ashara and Arianne gazed upon Kingshouse, right at the dropping of the sun as Jon first had, Jon had planned it out that way, they both gasped, and sat still, shocked silent by the beauty of their home. The Emer rushed smoothly and swiftly as the horses walked through it and they grew nearer to their home. When they crossed the Bridge of Bones, the women, Mother Dayne on her horse and Arianne in front of Jon on Cadeyrn, were still speechless. Jon could finally read the amusement in the men's eyes on the bridge as they passed, enjoying the looks of awe on the faces of newcomers, taking pride in their home.

"Just wait until you see the Great Grove where we are to marry, love," Jon breathed in to Arianne's ear. She leaned further back against him, resting in his warmth and strength. Upon passing the bridge and seeing the courtyard, with the skull and sword, they dropped out of their saddles and led their steeds to the stables, glad to finally be done with traveling after over a week of traveling and celebrating with the smallfolk. When they stepped in to the hall, each lady arm-in-arm with Jon, they gazed upon the wall of wars long since waged, the crowns on skulls, with the drying Balon skull and his crown on a fresh weirwood staff above the Bone and Weirwood Throne.

On the walls on the sides of the room, in between the door and the back wall, there were wooden stands with glass cases above them, and frames upon walls. Once, they held the artifacts of Magnar conquest, and some of them still did. Most, however, had been moved to storage until another area was created for them. Where the aged trophies and proof of victories forgotten, lost in the snows of time, though not in the annals of Skagosi records, once were, now sat any of the trophies Jon had acquired on his recent conquest. There was Andrik's axe, there was the Darkstar's dark, bitter sword. There was Red Rain, only two cases down from Victarion's kraken helm. There was Jakor Magnar's round shield, green and white, which had been stored by Skulgarth without Jon realizing it. There was Lord Bar Emmon's helm as well, next to it. Beside that was the white armor and cloak of the late Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart, which Jon had managed to have sneaked out of King's Landing. The piece of the Iron Victory that had the name painted on it was beside that armor. The banner of House Bar Emmon had already been upon the back wall, but now they had added the banners of all Ironborn houses they had not fought before. It was currently being debated on whether or not to add the Oakheart banner to the wall.

Of course, there remained some artifacts from Jon's predecessors. Maps of lands near and far, songs written on bloody banners over battles long passed, skulls, armors, weapons, trophies won by Liam Magnar I, Seamus Steele who was general to the Magnar's long ago, Fínán the Quick who ran like the wind in to the arms of Death, many, many others. It was beautiful.

- **Linebreak** -

 **Four Months Later**

Jon stood in his armor, polished and shining, with his finest clothes underneath it. His trousers were black, his boots as well, but his cloak was black, gray, white and red, the colors of House Stark of Skagos as well as Weirwood trees. He was a few feet in front of Liam's Tree, Skulgarth in white robes in between he and the legendary tree. It rained outside, not making it through the thick canopy of Liam's Tree, but drizzling everywhere else. The rows of people who had come for the ceremony were under small, makeshift white roofs with beams constructed over the pathway from the keep to Jon. His mother, Ashara Dayne, was on his side on the seat closest to the path, Allyria Dayne next to her. His Stark family, which he had the honor of showing around the castle when they arrived a day ago, sat next to Allyria, starting with Arya, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, then Robb, followed by Jon's other mother, Catelyn Stark, and then his one father Ned. They all seemed happy enough in Jon's home and at the ceremony, though Jon's mothers had looked fit to kill each other earlier. It would seem they had forgotten about it as their little boy was getting married today.

The Martells save for Doran, including the Sands Snakes, were on the opposite side, smiling and jesting. They were here for the wedding, though Oberyn and his daughters planned to stay on Skagos for a while longer, in order for them to train with the Skagosi and Oberyn to teach Jon the ways of the spear. In fact, they had already been here for two months, a welcome addition to Kingshouse, as the looks between Smalljon and Nym stated.

In secret, Jon knew his friend Jon wished to marry Nymeria Sand, and marrying a bastard was no problem in Skagos, for on the Island of Blood it was a man's character that was measured, as well as his arm, rather than his skin or name. Good people, though brutal. When his best friend would come to give him a gift later, the Stark king would order him to take Nym's hand. Then, he would present them an early wedding gift. A keep and rule over the Eastern island of Skagos, smaller than the main island, but definitely large enough. Eventually Jon would hope to find somebody who could also have a keep on the Northern side of Jon's own mountain range on the main island, but for now, they had the money for one new house addition.

While Jon thought over his plans, he looked in to the sky, for though it was rainy, there were the obvious silver outlines of the clouds, the orange, pink and blue sky shining through the gaps in them and the weaker clouds, giving the day a colorful gray look. Then, Jon heard the back doors of the keep opening, and he looked, his breath getting caught in his throat as he saw his soon-to-be wife.

Arianne was in a long white dress, flowing and trailing behind her. She was radiant, her dark olive skin glowing, due to happiness and pregnancy, and the dress was just tight enough to show the bump of her belly. She was arm in arm with her father, Prince Doran Martell, whom she had completely reconciled with. Doran had saved up his energy for months to specifically walk his daughter up the aisle to her betrothed, answer the questions, and go back to collapse in his seat next to his brother. Though he walked with a cane, he did so with happiness and confidence as he led his daughter to her new life.

"Who comes before the Gods, this night?" Skulgarth questioned, stepping forward in his white robes. Doran stepped forward as well.

"Arianne, of House Martell, comes here to be wed," Was Doran's easy reply. "A woman grown, trueborn and noble, comes to ask the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?" Jon stepped forward.

"Jon, of House Stark, King of Skagos and Lord of Kingshouse. Who gives her?" In the past year, from all the yelling and grunting and howling and snarling and smoke, Jon's voice had become closer and closer to that of the darker voice that sparred with the lighter one in his head. However, his voice was softer and clear on this day.

"Doran, of House Martell, her father."

"Lady Arianne, do you take this man?" Skulgarth questioned, and Arianne wasted no time stepping forward and grabbing his outstretched hand.

"I take this man," She answered.

"King Jon, do you take this woman?" Skulgarth asked. Jon wasted no time.

"I take this woman."

Then by the power invested in me by the Gods, I declare you husband and wife," Before Skulgarth could even finish the sentence they were kissing, and the crowd laughed and clapped, cheering as Jon took her hand and led the party to the Keep.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon sat in his study, freshly dressed and awoken with his father and Doran Martell. The leaders of the two largest of the Seven Kingdoms, and arguably the most notable young warrior and battle commander west of the Narrow Sea. Important matters were truly at hand.

"So, how long has this, alliance, been?" Ned Stark asked, referring to the pact between Jon and Doran.

"Since I first went South, Father. Before the Iron Islands fell. We talked, and came to some conclusions."

"Conclusions such as what?"

"Well, Lord Stark, we agreed that there is a storm brewing, a war coming. That part of that problem is we have mistaken ourselves as being one nation. We are not one nation, we are seven separate kingdoms, and the unity can not last," Jon's father looked to understand what he meant, realization dawning in his eyes.

"So, Father, we have agreed. When a war comes, which it is, we shall support each other, as well as each others independence from the Iron Throne. We would like if you would join us, after all, with you, no lords would stop us. The North deserves to be free from Southern tyranny, even if Robert has finally become a better king. His son won't be so great, we both know that. With you on our side, Aunt Lysa in the Eyrie staying out of the war, as we are sure she will, the Riverlands will join you or stay out of it all. There are only three other kingdoms left, then Dragonstone and it's lands with King's Landing. None can deny us our freedom when the time comes, as the only three kingdoms to never be completely conquered by the dragons."

"I will not speak of this meeting to Robert, but I can not agree to overthrow him or his son for Northern Pride. I must decline," Eddard spoke, seemingly scandalized by the idea that he would join such a plot.

"Father, I know how you feel, but please reconsider this."

"I will not. You are my son, and I love you, but I will not betray Robert like that."

"Fine Father, but tell me this one thing. Will you be able to look in the eyes of every child, every man and woman in the North, and tell them that you kept them under the boot of the South because you loved your friend too much? When your grandchildren listen to you, will you be able to explain to them why they are forced to pay homage and tribute to some Southern lord who earned neither their respect nor their love? Will you be able to tell your children why they will always be slaves to some lord in the South?"

Jon's father looked at him before turning and leaving, slamming the door behind him.

- **Linebreak** -

 **Fifteen Months Later**

Jon was in the capital city of Lorath, Duskwallow, on a balcony overlooking his 143 ships and part of his 5,000 men after the invasion of Omyw Beach. He had lost nearly no men in the city, possibly due to the nation of Lorath's small size and ability to be forgotten easily, therefore needing no large army. After Jon's son, Jon II, was born, Jon had stuck around for a while, about six months, witnessing the marriage of his friend Smalljon Umber to Nym Sand, even helping in building their home Duskwarden on the very top of the highest mountain on the Eastern island of Skagos. He had witnessed the creation of the first Skagos mint at Driftwood Hall. He had been there to witness the grand opening of Alayaya's brothel, as well as the Defiant Jackal Tavern and the Morning Glory Inn. Plus, Jon had ordered the creation of schools on five separate locations on the Western Island, two on the Eastern. Oldtown had sent as many maesters as he had requested, hoping to get on his good side, and he put several of their excess of maesters to use by putting three in each school. Skagosi children would become literate and bilingual, would learn their numbers, and would learn the history of the world.

Then, a few months after his son was born, Jon grew incredibly bored. He trained and trained, and even fought a few times with his Skagosi brothers, all in good will, but Jon knew he had to keep he and his men busy before the war in Westeros broke out, or else they'd begin to kill each other. So, he set out with 6,000 men and their ships east, sailing the Shivering Sea. They had hit the shore of Ibben, then the Kingdom of Ifequevron, witnessing the carved woods and haunted grottoes. They had sailed past Vaes Dothrak, for that was an adventure for another day, though they hit Sarnor and Qohor, fighting home warriors and Unsullied, the shock and awe tactics of the Skagosi proving invaluable against the infamous infantry units. After Qohor, they skipped Norvos out of respect for Jon's wife's mother. They had, however, invaded Lorath. Whereas all other attacks were merely raids, this was an actual conquest, Jon's second true campaign. He was over sixteen years old now, and had seen the coasts of every Northern Kingdom the world had to offer. And this was already his second war.

They had spent three months raiding along the coasts, then the past month in Lorath, making sure they took everything of value in order to help jump start Skagos's economy. They had taken their time working their way north to Duskwallow, but had made it there nonetheless.

So here Jon sat, on the ledge of a balcony with a bottle of Wildfire Water in his left hand, his swords sheathed, his armor and helm covered in blood. He watched the ancient city, which would soon come to be known as the Duskwallow Necropolis rather than the Duskwallow Metropolis, burn, dying and taking it's last breath. It raged against the night sky. He sang the last part of a Skagosi song as he waited for his men to find the cowering and hiding king and prince of Lorath and bring them to him.

"Oh I'm living life on my last breath,

Running the race on my last leg,

I'm handing out my last deaths,

And I'm drinking up my last dregs,

When a I move to the next life I refuse to shiver,

So don't lay me at the bottom of a river,

I've waged war and I'll wager you son,

Come winter you'll I burned as our ancestors have done,

Don't lay me at the bottom of the river."

Just as Jon finished the last line, Loch and Arik along with Skulgarth and Smalljon dragged in two men, one of an age with Jon, the other his father's age. When they came forward to the balcony, dropping to their knees as Jon spun around to sit facing them, Jon smiled.

"Stand and fight, my lords," He spoke, his voice becoming ever deeper and rougher. In response, the boy stood up, attempting to run, only for Umber to shove him back towards Jon, and Jon gripped his shirt, ripping him over the edge of the balcony, sailing down the twenty stories towards the ground. He turned back to the father.

"Please, my king, mercy," The man whimpered, looking down and holding his hands up. Jon was absolutely disgusted. A man who kneels to another man, much less whimpers at his son's killer, is no man at all. He grabbed the hand, ripping the "king" to his feet, and facing him towards the city at the edge of the balcony. Jon stood behind him.

"This is what your weakness brought on your people," Jon told him before ripping Northwind out of it's sheath and trapping the king's body in between him and the wall, opening his throat to the world, spurting over the edge. Jon sawed away with his blade, until eventually the blood covered his entire forearm and the last bit of flesh connecting the head to the body was severed. He stepped back, pulling the head off by gripping it's hair and kicking the body over the ledge.

"You have the crown?" Jon asked, and Kira who had popped up out of nowhere tossed it to him. He attached it to his belt and sheathed his knife after wiping it off on his pants.

"Jon," Arik spoke, capturing Jon's attention, "Lachtín shot down a raven carrying a message with information earlier. It said that the king is dead."

"Which one?"

"The Stag King in Westeros has died. Your father has been taken as a prisoner by the lions. There was other information, but that was all that was noticeable about it."

Jon stood up straighter, looking at his friend.

"Very well, so we head back to Westeros," Jon declared, heading for the door of the room followed by his group of friends.

It would appear that the war was here.


	13. Chapter 13: Blood of the West

**Hey everybody! Just uploaded one 8,001 words! I'm tryin' for 10,000 this time. Almost to 200 follows. So, everythin' has been going pretty quickly in the last chapter, but it'll start gettin' slower again right about now. The plot is thickenin'.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 13: Blood of the West is No More Gold Than the Rest**

Jon was on his way to Winterfell, a following of his lords and notable people behind him, 5,000 men farther behind them. The other 14,000 would be on their way South to the Neck to wait for Jon. 1,000 men would stay on Skagos, just in case. He had visited his son, wife, and mother at Skagos when calling his banners, telling them that war was upon them.

Ghost kept up with the group rather easily, having grown to being a bit over Jon's waist, just as Jon had grown to 6'3", and a bit broader as well. However, it was Ghost and the banners that prompted the guards on the gates of Winterfell to let in the large, dark young man with a strange haircut and a retinue of a dozen or so men, warriors all, through the gates.

"Jon?" Jon heard a voice call as soon as he entered the courtyard. He dismounted and turned, seeing Bran near the doors of the great hall, Rickon beside him.

"By the Gods, little Brothers, you've actually grown," He laughed out loud, the ruby and metal on his crown glinting in the moonlight. The two younger boys rushed forward, Rickon jumping in to Jon's arms, hugging him, Bran waiting until their hug was finished to get his. When the hugs were finally done with, the boys greeted the men they recognized from the entourage.

"Where is Robb?" Jon asked, the three Starks faces growing serious, as Stark faces are typical of doing.

"He's in the hall with his lords and whatnot," Bran answered.

"Well then come on, let's go in."

"Well, Jon, Robb said I had to take Rickon back to his room, he's too young to be in there," Bran remarked.

"Nonsense, he's six years old for the Gods' sakes! Skagosi kids start training by this time, learning the ways of war too. You weren't too much older when you fell, now you're walking and running again, if you're strong enough to recover at that age, he's strong enough to join in a feast for his future bannerman," Jon declared, heading to the doors with three direwolves, two boys, and a dozen men in tow.

When Jon shoved open the doors, the head of every man turned towards the doors, the Stark at the main table.

"Jon?" Both Robb and Greatjon asked, standing from their seats. Smalljon Umber stepped forward, embracing his father, talking to each other.

"Last we heard of you, you were waging a war in Essos," Robb said, standing and embracing Jon.

"Aye, so I was. Had just finished my war when I heard about the Stag King and Father. My men and I have come to help in any way possible, I've got 5,000 on their way here and 14,000 sailing down to the Neck to wait for us. These are my Lords Stane and Crowl that you know, their sons Ultán and Loch. Smalljon Umber, Lord of Duskwarden Hall, Lachtín, the greatest archer on Skagos, Skulgarth, and my men Eóin, Árón, Maol, and Comán," Each man nodded as conversations resumed, Smalljon speaking with his father about his recent activities prompting the return to talking. "What do we know?"

"Well, Tywin has his mad dogs Lorch and Clegane burning and raping the Riverlands, Jaime Lannister sits near Riverrun, Tywin himself is rousing from the West, Mother was in the Eyrie with the Imp, to bring him to justice for trying to kill Bran. Letters from there say they've all left, Tyrion free, Mother empty-handed, and the Lannisters now with the Mountain Clans of the Vale. Father is still prisoner, and the boy Joffrey demands we come South to kiss his arse and kneel to him. Sansa wrote us a letter, but there is no word of Arya. It would appear that the dead king's brothers, both Renly and Stannis, have called their banners, though not against us, against each other and Joffrey. It looks as though all of the West is against us, then we'll have to fight Stannis and his men, or Renly's Stormlanders and Reachmen, whichever one we decide to denounce. It appears Aunt Lysa won't answer our calls for help, but the Riverlands most assuredly will."

"You mean whatever men are left in the Riverlands. It's been put to the sword, there most likely won't be many men. We'll have the Neck, Howland Reed won't abandon Father. What are we waiting for?"

"Well, with your forces, we have around thirty-five to forty thousand. The Lannisters have an estimated thirty-five, but with the Crownlanders on their side, we don't know, maybe forty-five, maybe fifty thousand. Not to mention we can't get there without the Twins. The Riverlands might give us ten thousand, maybe, but it's no guarantee. Stannis has 5,000 or so men, and Renly is said to have 100,000. I don't suppose you have another 50,000 men, do you brother?" Robb asked, unsure and frustrated, not expecting an actual answer.

"Well, that would depend. How many men do you think Dorne has?" When Jon answered, Robb looked up, realizing exactly what he meant.

"I think you may have won us this war, brother," Robb stated, grinning. Jon smiled back but responded honestly.

"No war is over until all our enemies lay dead, Robb. You haven't been to war yet, but I have. Don't rely on numbers solely, they won't. When we took the Iron Islands, we did so with much less than we're doing this with. Speaking of the squids, where is Greyjoy?" Jon growled out.

"I sent him away, to the Iron Islands to find any survivors that he may," Robb answered.

"Gods damn it Robb! Do you know he'll never come back. He'll gather his men and do as he's always done, him and his kind, especially if the rumors of his sister Asha and Uncle Euron coming back are true. That plan is as good as fucked. Alright. Sorry brother, it's just frustrating. Anyway, if we can get to the Riverlands, I can have half my fleet waiting on each side of Westeros and I can commence in Tintreach Cogadh, Lightning War," Jon ranted.

"How many ships do you have Jon?" Robb queried.

"572, but we have a generation soon to be old enough to fight coming, and when that happens, they'll come with even more ships. I have talked to my good-father and good-uncle in Dorne about raising a fleet as well, and with the wood we've been giving them, they may soon have close to 300."

"Good, good. Well, what do you propose we do Jon? You've been to war, twice, successful both times. You've never lost."

"First, we head South."

- **Linebreak** -

When they came across the two towers over the river, Jon spat on to the ground, Robb sharing his feeling of distaste. They had both heard their mother's tales of Lord Walder Frey and his cowardice. Neither were exceptionally happy being here. When they came forward to the bridge, two men rode forward on their horses, and Catelyn rode up beside her two eldest sons whom she had joined at Moat Cailin. When the men finally neared the trio, they stopped, ten feet apart.

"What business have you at the Twins?" The meaner looking one asked rather rudely.

"We seek to use it, to head South and aid Riverrun," Robb stated, not mentioning how they should be doing the same. Jon had no qualms.

"Isn't that where you should be?" Jon asked, mocking the Frey men. They turned red.

"I am Black Walder, this is my brother Hothor, we are sons of Lord Walder Frey, and you would speak with a little more respect if you wished to pass," Black Walder spoke, seeming to think he had them now.

"So you would deny your liege lord his assistance?" Robb asked. The two stuck their noses in the air.

"Do you know who I am?" Jon asked. He was not arrogant, but it didn't hurt to point out that he was becoming a legend when speaking to strangers who were belligerent. "I am Jon Stark, King of Skagos, and if I wanted to use this bridge, I would lay waste to your house with my 20,000 Skagosi warriors. You have surely heard the Reaper of Reavers?" When Jon pointed out who he was and mentioned his savage men, the two Freys grew pale, realizing they had been annoying the young, Northern version of Tywin Lannister.

"My father would speak to the Lady Catelyn, alone, to negotiate your crossing the bridge," Hothor spoke, seemingly more in check than his brother.

"I shall go with her," Jon spoke up. "My direwolf as well."

"No you shall not!"

"I shall, or your castle will crumble instead! She is my mother, and I will keep an eye on her."

"Very well, but no unsheathing your weapons!" The Freys turned and rode across the bridge toward the castle, Jon, Catelyn, and Ghost close behind.

- **Linebreak** -

Jaime Lannister, Kingsguard and Kingslayer, grows more frustrated every second that passes with no sign of the enemy. His outriders had yet to answer back, and he and his seven hundred men walked on miserably. Then, there, a noise. Right as they hit a stream.

Out of nowhere, forces from three sides crash in to the Lannister force, condensing the group before they fight back. Jaime turns and notices banners of several types. A giant in chains, a silver bird, a bear, others. The, he sees an opening the way they came, and right next to that opening, the boy Robb Stark and his Direwolf, cutting down men as often as they can. Jaime charges that way, and his horse is hit three times in the throat with arrows, going down right before he gets there. Jaime jumps up, noticing several Northern men, a few boys, in between him and Robb Stark. He rushes, cutting down one man, and then another, and all of a sudden he's on the two boys. They look alike. One slashes, and Jaime parries, quickly cutting the now unprotected boy down. The other cries out and strikes, Jaime blocks and goes for the kill, only for it to be knocked aside by a third blade, and for his helm to turn sideways from the force of a fist to his covered chin. Once it's straightened, he turns and prepares to fight, noticing the hole in the lines now closed.

As Jaime completely turns around, he sees the other Stark, the Skagosi king, Jon. His direwolf is behind him gnawing on a man's arm, and Jon's bloody gray eyes bore in to Jaime's green ones. Jon draws his second sword, Dawn, and Jaime starts to circle him, Jon following suit.

Jaime jumps in, slashing at the younger man's legs, only for the Stark to block the blow, throwing one at Jaime's midsection with Dawn. Lannister ducks under the blow and drags his sword up. Jon merely leans back before returning with a vicious blow to the lion, hitting his shield and knocking it away, though it leaves him open. Jaime send his sword at Jon's neck, though Jon ducks under the blow, bobbing, sliding as he ducks, dragging Longclaw deep in to Jaime's armor and sliding it, cutting a gash, though a shallow one thanks to the thickness of the plate. Jon steps out of the way as Jaime looks in disbelief. _I'm too cocky_. Jaime thinks. So, more cautiously, he jabs, Jon bats it away and jabs back, then swings at him with Dawn. Jaime turns, dodging the blow, but Jon is able to kick him in the back of the leg. When he feels his knees buckle, Jaime realizes that even though he's an inch shorter than the tall Stark, he's slower due to his armor. He steps back, digging his sword in to the ground, hoping the man in the direwolf helm will allow it. When Jon doesn't make a move, Jaime unbuckles most of the armor from his arms and legs, save for his gauntlets. He unfastens the gorget and lets it slide off before returning to his stance. When there, Jon strikes again.

Jon swings downward with Longclaw, though Jaime has moved aside. Dawn moves out, lashing at Jaime, but the Lannister ducks under. He stabs forward, and Jon spins aside, however, he does it by putting his left foot out in front and to his right, stepping away and spinning as he does it in such a way that it would allow for a backhanded slash. Jon's right blade hits Jaime's shield, tearing it out of his hand and sending it flying, and as Jon stabs down towards the slightly crouching Jaime, the golden warrior stabs up and towards the dark wolf's armpit. Both men turn and move at the same time, their blades in front of the others throat and Jon's left arm on Jaime's right. Both men spin backwards to get the first strike, but Jon has two swords and lashes out, forcing Jaime to lean back first thing, barely missing the tip of the blade. This causes Jaime to lose his balance and stumble back. He spins, catching his feet before turning around again, Jon on him once more.

Jon sends a diagonal backhand at Jaime with Longclaw that is batted away. It's followed closely by Dawn, which Jaime jumps away from. Jon spins and brings Longclaw downward, Jaime stepping barely out of the blades path. Stark pulls up his left blade, threatening to stab from over his head, which Jaime prepares for, leaving him vulnerable to the unexpected attack of Jon swinging Longclaw back up. It flies by his face, cutting open a line along his cheek through the helm, not terribly deep but more than Lannister is happy with. The Golden Boy of House Lannister swings at Jon from his own right, which Jon ducks but has to jump back to miss Jaime's backhanded stroke. He presses forward, not quite hitting Jon, but getting closer and closer with each swing, until he's deathly close and Jon throws a counter jab to catch him off guard. It forces Lannister off the assault for a split second, allowing Jon the opportunity to gain more distance before Jaime presses on him again, farther away but closing in once more. Jaime slashes downward, then back up, side swipe from the left, grazing by Jon's armor, followed by a thrust at Jon's stomach. Stark turns, his right side nearest Jaime, and bring his right knee up, his shin facing his foe, before the foot follows closely as Jon turns his body and pushes it, hitting Jaime directly in the rib area with a side kick, knocking the golden one back and on to his ass.

He stands again, lashing out only for Jon to bat it aside, swinging backhanded at Jaime's head with Dawn. Jaime leans back, but Jon kicks at his legs and Jaime has to jump his feet back, leaving him leaning forward and Jon swings at his head with Longclaw. Jaime is forced to drop under it, not ready for the boot that catches him in the collarbone, knocking him backwards. He rolls, back on to the balls of his feet again, and charges Jon as the Stark charges him.

The Direwolf and the Lion meet in the middle, Jon lashing out with Dawn, meeting air, Jaime slashes with his sword, meeting air. Jon spins to deliver a backhanded blow with Longclaw, only for the suspecting Lannister to stab forward, his blade across the left side of Jon's neck as he jumps out of range of the deadly duo of longswords.

When Jon feels the wound, he's excited and charges again, swinging and connecting Longclaw with Jaime's golden sword. Before it can be retracted, Jon bats at it again with Dawn, and Jaime's entire arm vibrates with the force of both blows. Jon continues to swing, most of the blows meeting Jaime's sword rather than air due to the numbness of Jaime's right arm and shoulder. Finally, Jaime is reminded of why he was dodging and not blocking when he looks down at his golden steel sword and sees the countless notches up and down the blade. Jon notices as well.

"Retrieve another sword Ser Jaime," Jon's rough, somehow smooth and gravelly at the same time, voice spoke at Jaime, and Jaime was reminded of Ser Arthur's fight with the Smiling Knight. _So I truly have become the Smiling Knight._ _So be it_. Jaime picks up the sword of a dead man, noticing most of the battle now still and watching the fight between he and the Northerner, a few small skirmishes in the background.

Jaime lunges forward at Jon, meeting nothing as Jon jumps back. Jon slashes at Jaime, meeting nothing as well. They dance back and forth for a while, the entire field silent with anticipation. Every man held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. Who would win? The Slayer of Kings, or the King of Slayers?

Jon lunges, grazing past Jaime's cheek, not quite touching him. Continuing with the lunge, Jon jabs at Jaime's waist, though Jaime jumps away once more. Jaime swings upward at Jon from his position, opening a gash along the younger man's left bicep, shallow but still a cut. However, before he can celebrate, Longclaw comes crashing in to Jaime's helm, luckily for Jaime, at an angle and on the thickest part of the helm. It turns the helm sideways on the Lannister's head. Feeling no other attack, he quickly jumps back and rips the helm off, assessing the situation. The field all had eyes for none but he and Jon, and the Stark looked around noticing it as well. They both had similar thought. No matter what was said of them, if they made songs over the Iron Islands genocide, or over Jaime's killing the Mad King, the one they'd always love to sing most would be this one. The dual of the Whispering Wood. Both men turned and nodded at each other, determination in their eyes.

Jon jumped in, swinging just as Jaime jumped out, swinging. They did this a few more times before Jaime made the mistake of attempting to take a page out of Jon's Book of Efficient Brutality, by slashing at Jon's left arm and throwing a punch at Jon's right eye. Before he could retract it fully, Longclaw had come down sideways, cutting through gauntlet and flesh, effectively severing Jaime's left hand from his body. Jaime screamed out in agony, dropping to his knees as Jon smacked away his greatest foe's sword with Dawn, holding Longclaw under Jaime's chin as he held his stump with his now free hand.

"Do you yield, Ser Jaime?" Jon asked, hoping Jaime would say yes, remembering the sad, maddening tale of Liam's despair over the death of Aodhfin. Jaime looked up at him through eyes filled with tears of pain, and gritting his teeth, he answered.

"Aye, I yield." The entire field erupted in cheers as a battlefield maester rushed forward to attend Jaime as Jon sheathed his swords and dropped by Jaime, gripping his shoulders and helping to lift him to his feet so that a maester would help him easier. When Jaime dropped from exhaustion and blood loss, Jon tore off Jaime's armor to make him lighter, grabbing him and lifting him, carrying him to a wagon as a maester attended to him.

- **Linebreak** -

Tyrion sat at the table of his father's commanders, pondering the Battle of the Green Fork, and wondering how his brother had fared in the battle further up North, as there surely was. His thoughts were accompanied by bickering between all the lords, that is, until the messenger had run in with news of Jaime.

"M'lords," The messenger bowed, being met by stares and an expectant look from Tyrion's father, Tywin.

"Yes? Speak," Tywin motioned at the young boy.

"The Battle of the Whispering Wood was lost, m'lord. A force of twice the number fell on Ser Jaime's force. Ser Jaime lives yet, but was captured by the Starks. Also..." The boy trailed off.

"Yes? What is it?" Tyrion asked. The boy looked at him, then back to Tywin and answered.

"The battle was finished with him dueling the King of Skagos, Jon Stark who has joined the war. They dueled a great duel, the best fight I've ever seen. They went back and forth, like out of a story or a song. But, eventually, something happened, and Stark caught off Ser Jaime's left hand. The Direwolf beat him in single combat!" The boy breathed out, unable to contain his amazement. Though some might blame him, Tyrion could not. The boy had just witnessed something that would go down in history. "I saw it myself, m'lords, he beat him, then carried Ser Jaime off the field himself."

"That'll be enough. Now go," Tywin shooed out the boy, getting up to get a drink and allowing the commanders at the table to bicker amongst themselves. Tyrion wondered, did the Starks know what Joffrey had done to Ned Stark yet? Surely not, for they had just figured out themselves, and if they had, would they have been so lenient towards Jaime?

- **Linebreak** -

Sansa was awoken from her slumber by the pounding on the door by Ser Meryn Trant. When she opened the door, the "knight" stepped in, glaring at her.

"The king demands your presence, girl," He declared, so she left with him. When they reached the throne room, however, Sansa felt more suspicious than before. Why could she have been brought here? When they entered, she saw the regular crowd of lords and ladies, as well as Lancel Lannister near the throne, Joffrey in it, Cersei next to it, and Sandor on the other side of it. When she reached the steps, she was stopped by Ser Meryn Trant.

"What is the meaning of this?" Joffrey screeched with his gray wormy lips.

"What is what, Your Grace?" Sansa asked, slightly scared.

"Tell her!" Joffrey demanded, and Lancel Lannister turned to her.

"Your brothers Robb and Jon fell on Lord Commander Jaime in he Whispering Wood, and through some vile sorcery, they won, capturing Ser Jaime before feasting on the flesh of the fallen!"

"I should punish you for your treachery!" Joffrey screeched, standing up and pointing at Sansa.

"I promise Your Grace, whatever my treacherous brother's took part in, I did not!"

"My mother says we still need you, now more than ever, but mark my words, I'll kill your brothers and give you their heads on our wedding day!"

Sansa wanted to laugh at the idea of Joffrey trying to fight Robb, or better yet, Jon. If there was a more pathetic fight, Sansa had neither heard nor seen it.

- **Linebreak** -

Catelyn searched for her sons, desperately in need of finding them. She had heard they were both safe, had heard of Jon's battle with the Kingslayer, heard Jon had turned aside his healer to heal Jaime Lannister. But that wasn't what worried Cat. What worried her was that word of her Ned's death had reached the castle, and both Robb's and Jon's ears as soon as they had returned. They were out here somewhere in these trees, and Cat knew not where.

Finally, she heard some grunting and hacking sounds, and turned some trees to find them in a small open area, Robb crying and hacking at a tree. Jon was leaning against a nearby tree, tears streaming down his face, jaw clenched, and eyes staring in to the sky. She approached her two eldest sons, and they both turned to her, eyes red.

"They killed him," Robb spoke, his voice cracking, "Jon didn't kill the Kingslayer, but they killed Father!" Jon said nothing, just looking at her, the loss and lost expression in his eyes mingling, as if he knew not where he was or what he was doing, or anything besides sadness.

"Yes, they did Robb."

"We'll kill them all! If Jon and I have to fight our way in to King's Landing by ourselves to kill them all, we will!"

"I know you two will, Robb," Catelyn cooed, and Robb fell in to her, his sword hitting the ground, his armor cold against her. When Catelyn looked up at Jon from over her crying son's shoulder, Jon was standing, crying harder than before. She looked at him, and he rushed forward as well, falling in to her other arm. She hugged her two eldest sons to her, silently crying herself as she comforted the oldest of her little wolves.

- **Linebreak** -

When Jaime awoke, he was laying on a bed in a room, not a cell in a dungeon as he expected. The window had bars on it, thick and heavy iron things, unbreakable for him. Light filtered in through the thin curtains on the window, allowing Jaime to see the decent room he was in. A bed, not much else, but a bed nonetheless with furs and pillows. _Am I dead?_ When he tried to sit up, placing his hands beneath him in order to push himself up, he felt the searing pain in his left wrist, where his hand used to be. He dropped back on to his back, screaming through his clenched teeth, tears coming to his eyes.

"Be careful, lion. You're injured," When Jaime looked over, he gazed upon the man who had done this to him, Jon Stark, closing the door behind him.

"What have you come for Stark? I'm in no mood for boasts, and it is not wise to poke even an injured lion," Jaime warned, but Jon just nodded, and Jaime noticed the redness to his eyes. The Thirsty Wolf had been crying it seemed.

"I have come to talk," Jon stated, walking over and dropping on to the edge of the bed after Jaime had sat up, slumping against the head board.

"Joffrey just beheaded my father," Jon told him. Jaime was shocked. Why had he told him?

"So you've come to finish the job is it?"

"No, not at all. If I had, you would have a sword right now. Besides, then they would hurt Sansa, and Arya if she's even there. No, I came to explain certain things."

"And what might that be? Why you cut off my hand would be a good start."

"Combat is combat, and you put the hand out there, if I remember correctly. I came to explain why you have this room, not a cell." At Jaime's look of expectancy, Jon continued.

"So many men and women sneer and jeer behind your back. Call you the Kingslayer. Even though they all know he told you to kill your own father, they still hate you. But I can't. I spoke with a man who was once a little bird in King's Landing. I don't know if what he said was absolutely true, he was drunk, but he told me what the Mad King's last act as king was, what he told his pyromancer to do. And if it's true, you're the savior of half a million people, even if they hate you for it. Most my life, I've known that knights are a myth, at least these days. And I always wondered, how one could maintain all oaths when so many conflict so often. And when I heard this, I knew when I saw you, never was there a truer knight than the one who sacrificed his honor and memory for the good of the common people."

By the time Jon finished, Jaime had tears in his eyes, and was looking down to avoid having the younger man see them.

"And I vow, that should any of my sons ask of a knight, or wish to be one, I shall let them know who it is they should wish to be."

"Thank you," Jaime croaked it.

"No, thank you, I'll say it for the people who won't. But, I also must say, you are the greatest adversary I've ever faced. Had it not been for you taking the chance, the fight may never have stopped. And, in Skagosi culture, a man has a certain place in his heart for all of his fellow warriors, his brothers. In that place, he has a pedestal for his greatest opponent. You stand in my pedestal Ser, you have given me my greatest song, and for that, I thank you." When Jon and Jaime looked at each other, eyes shining, they nodded. Jon got up and left, closing the door gently behind himself.

When Jon got out in to the hallway, he left for the stairs, leading him to another hallway that led to a solar, in which Robb sat with his and Jon's mother, their great Uncle Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, Uncle Ser Edmure Tully, and an old and frail lord who is their grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully.

"Jon," Brynden greeted him when he entered, weapons sheathed and in full armor with his helm under his arm and his crown on his head.

"Uncles, Mother, Brother, Grandfather," Jon responded respectfully, nodding to each in turn. "I have come because I must speak on a matter with you."

"What would that be?" Robb asked.

"I must be leaving soon. My ships are fast, and most will be at Pyke soon enough. My ship the _Seawolf_ will be at Seagard waiting for me by the time I get there, and I must join those seven thousand men. I leave you with the five thousand here, as well as the Kingslayer. I would ask that you do not kill him, and treat him with the respect I've shown him."

"Why?" Robb asked, angry.

"I will tell you later, just please do it. Now, I believe we have a feast to attend with all of our bannermen." On Jon's last word, he spun on his heel and left, followed by the group of Tullys and Robb.

- **Linebreak** -

"Renly Baratheon is nothing to me. Nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine, from some flowery seat in Highgarden or Dorne? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong. The Others take the Lannisters, too. I've had a bellyful of them." The Greatjon reached back over his shoulder and drew his immense two-handed greatsword. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" He pointed at Robb with the blade. "There sits the only king I mean to bend myknee to, m'lords," he thundered. "The King in the North!"

"I'll have peace on those terms!" Glover declared. "They can keep their red castle! To the King in the North!"

Jon stood from his spot sitting on the table top with his feet on the bench, all eyes falling on him. He dropped to the ground, his feet hitting with a thud. When he did, he walked the few feet over to his brother and spoke to him and the entire crowd.

"The day after I was married, I asked my father to join with the Skagosi and Dorne in a pact for independence from the Iron Throne. He threw away the opportunity, respectfully, out of love for the Stag King! Now, the Stag King is dead, and so too my father! So, I ask you now, Robb, are you my brother, will you join me and my Dornish family as the third nation in the conquest for freedom?"

"Aye," Robb answered from the edge of his seat, leaning on his elbows. Jon reached down, and the two grasped each others forearms.

"Then, Robb, my ships will be with yours, brother, my bows will be with yours," Jon pulled Robb to his feet, letting go of his forearm and ripping out his Valyrian Steel swords, stabbing them in to the earth before placing his hand in a fist over his heart and bowing his head. "Then, King Stark, my swords and axes will forever be yours, so long as you need them. To the King in the North!"

The entire crowd of men rose from their seats, or stood even higher than they already were, and chanted.

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"

As Jon ripped out his swords and put them back in their scabbards, he smiled at his brother, nodding his head at him, then embracing his mother, before leaving, followed closely by Skulgarth, Lachtín, and the heirs Stane and Crowl. They mounted their horses, packs already packed, and set off to the sound of thunderous chants as the entire military force around Riverrun picked up the echoing cry.

"The King in the North!"

- **Linebreak** -

The Western half of the Skagosi fleet was under Jon's command, and had got ready set sail as soon as they had seen his ship coming for them. Ultán commanded the Eastern half, seconded by Berach Open-Hand, an archer Captain who had covered himself in glories on Jon's campaign in Essos. Earning the name Open-Hand by killing so quickly, firing his arrows at such a rapid pace, the Skagosi claimed his hand opening to let the arrow loose was in total more time than any other action in the shot, including getting the arrow, notching, drawing or aiming. He was one of the three best in Skagos, rivaled only by Kira and Lachtín.

As they sailed past the Iron Islands, Jon could just _sense_ that there were men there, whether it was Euron or Theon or even Asha Greyjoy, he knew not. Only that they were _there_. However, the Western Skagosi fleet could waste no time attempting to find people on these rocks, and had to move towards their target. The fastest of the ships had already sailed far ahead, and were ready for their part of the plan to begin. When the message was received, they would burn the fleet in the Reach. Jon and his men farther North would burn the fleet at Lannisport, but that wasn't the only job. Lannisport itself would burn. But, then, it wasn't enough. No, they had taken from him somebody invaluable, so he would take from the Lannisters something invaluable. _Casterly Rock_ would crumble and burn.

- **Linebreak** -

It was night time, the hour of the wolf specifically, when Jon's ships approached Lannisport. A thick fog had rolled in, which Jon had not expected, and the moon was gone from the sky. Jon imagined no ships were expected now, so the guards payed no attention. For people who claimed they were superior, they couldn't seem to learn a lesson from the time Balon Greyjoy burned their entire fleet because they weren't paying attention. Funny way the world works. Though, there were some men on the docks, Jon supposed, but not near enough to make any difference whatsoever.

When the first wave of ships first appeared at the docks, those containing Jon's best men and the special supplies needed for the objective later on, several men on the piers seemed alarmed. Archers quickly silenced them. The Skagosi raiders who had beached along the actual shore rather than the docks due to the docks limited space invaded the city streets just as the _Seawolf_ hit the docks and Jon jumped on to them.

A guard who had been asleep at his post and was awoken by the first scream charged at Jon, sword out and ready for blood. Jon dipped under the great stab, pushing both of his blades through the man's sternum and hoisting him up a bit, running with him at the archers in the narrow street in front of him. When they fired their arrows, he quickly dropped the body to prevent fatigue, and started cutting down the archers. Just as it appeared another group of archers would shoot him down, they were swarmed by raiders, and a man who had snuck up on Jon was savaged by Ghost. 7,000 veteran killers had snuck in to the city unnoticed and unchallenged, able to freely go door to door, only having to face a half asleep guard here or there. The slaughter was massive and immediate. The Stark whistled, causing Cadeyrn to leave the ship and join Jon at his side as men grabbed jars and containers full of green liquid from the ships. After hearing the tales by the former Little Bird in King's Landing, Jon had sent Ultán, the most mild-mannered youth on Skagos, to King's Landing to barter and purchase the substance from the Alchemist's Guild. The sane ones were only too happy to take the deal. After all, it was enough Wildfire to blow up the Rock.

Jon mounted Cadeyrn and looked to the castle above Lannisport where the Lannisters of Lannisport resided. The lord of the place had taken to mounting a defense at the city's edge which Jon's men were already rushing towards. Jon motioned towards another man on a horse to follow him, and before long, there were six hundred cavalry moving to flank the simple defenses. The horses had been taken from dead Lannisters, fine beasts. Skagos had once had the finest horses found anywhere, and still had some such, but they were few. Most had been eaten in the last winter.

When Jon and his fellow horsemen were finally lined up with the Lannister lines, Jon cut in to them followed by his warriors. Most were simply infantry, and were confused, allowing Jon's men on foot to break through the lines, cutting down men right and left, as Jon was.

Across the small battlefield, Jon spotted the Lannister lord, some unnamed man in a lion helm and cloak, who had the balls to charge at Jon when Jon charged at him. Jon ripped his spear, Icicle, free from its place on Cadeyrn's side. It was shorter than the man's lance, but just long enough, as well as the right shape, to get the job done. When the man aimed his lance closer to Jon's neck and head, he made his last mistake, allowing Jon an easier opportunity to slip under it and drive his spear through the chest plate of the rider, pushing him off his horse and causing him to carry in the air for a moment, until Jon turned his spear backwards, allowing the ground to pull the man off.

By the time Jon had gotten rid of the body and turned back to look at the carnage that was war, he realized that his men had burned through the opposition like a fire through dead grass. Either they fed off of Jon's rage, and acted as he did, or they themselves were angered at what some soft Southerners had dared to do to their king's own family, to a good Northern man. Either way, they were feral in the firelight.

Jon rode up with his best men, including the best of his crew, to the first part of the great rock fortress created by the Casterly family. Defenses were set up there by the men left to hold it, Tywin Lannister being gone to the Riverlands. Arrows fired past Jon and his men, the Westerlanders obviously befuddled and unprepared to deal with such an unexpected onslaught. When he finally reached the start of the Rock, he had Arik and Skulgarth on either side of him, Lachtín and Kira behind them but barely. Jon pulled a shield from Cadeyrn's left side, a round, oak and iron shield with a sharp edge and a set of spikes on the face of it. It was gray, and had alternating red and black direwolves racing in and out of the spikes like trees.

He raced in to the small area containing some guards, shoving his spear in to the throat of a man whose spear was too large for him to raise in such a short space. Then, he blocked an arrow with his shield, smashed an oncoming swordsman's face with his shield, dropping him to his seizures, and twirled Icicle, spinning and gaining momentum in it as he swung it, slashing across the nearest man's face and dropping him before Cadeyrn reared up, stomping down on to his bloody face. The open roof became more crowded as more of Jon's cavalry joined in, so Jon whistled, gathering his men's attention as he sped across the bridge, his horsemen in pursuit, men on foot now pouring in to the guards station to finish them, spilling down in to the lower levels of that structure.

Several men were on the bridge at random places, stray and afraid, when Jon came across them. He had thought it polite to introduce such lonely men to his spear. He killed and growled, all along the bridge, working his way down as quickly as possible by leaving some for the archers on horseback, or Skulgarth with his axe, or Arik with his sword, to take care of. By the time Jon had finally reached the open doors in to the main part of Casterly Rock, a half finished, weak and inexperienced shield line had formed. If the boys cowering in the corners were any indications, the shields were held by green boys, and most would be too afraid to handle the pressure about to be applied. Jon threw his spear from the back of Cadeyrn, and the six foot piece of weirwood, iron, and Valyrian steel flew true, straight through the commanding man's chest, lifting him off his feet and back a short distance, to the ground.

As Jon slammed through the lines along with several other men on mounts, the boys dropped their shields and screamed or cried, most of them at least. Many were stopped short in their vocal distress signals by weapons, one in particular was stopped short, mid ah, by Jon slamming the thick, sharp iron edge of his shield in to a young man's head, opening it up and them ripping out, leaving an even larger hole. Flying past the survivors, Jon grabbed the end of the butt of his spear and pulled it out of the man when Cadeyrn stepped on the body, thankful the older man had no time to put on any armor on. He tossed it in the air and grabbed the middle of the shaft, riding back to the sole survivors and helping to finish them off.

When they were done, they dismounted, weapons in hand, and shot down many separate corridors, followed by the foot warriors streaming in through the doors now. Jon immediately went straight down the main flight of stairs, meeting a guard on the first platform he came across and swiftly placing Icicle in his skull, before retracting it, boot to chest, sending the corpse crashing in to the bodies of the men on the stairs behind him. Several of them fell, though some did not. The ones who still stood were quickly put down by Lachtín's arrows, in the throats or the eyes, some in the heart, depending on if they wore armor or not and what Lachtín felt like hitting at that moment. The others fell to either Jon's spear or Skulgarth's axe as they worked their way down the stairs, a large force close behind, followed somewhat distantly by men with wildfire and easily burning rope.

They worked their way down many flights of stairs, shooting, spearing, and splitting as they went. When they came to a lift filled with a lordling in Lannister armor, as well as his men, the Wolves of War jumped at them, chomping at the bit for bloodshed. Jon ducked under the sword thrust of the lordling, slamming the edge of his shield in to the boy's mouth, maiming and disfiguring it permanently, though that would not really matter. Another man raised his sword above his head to hack down, and Jon slammed his shield's spikes in to his face, several of the five inch long steel blades digging in to the brain through the eyes. Jon, with his shield still in the shaking man's face, he thrust forward, driving his spear through the grounded lordling's throat and in to the wood of the lift. The other Western men had died with their little lord, brutal and bloody. Jon's men pulled them out of the lift, save for the lordling on Jon's spear, and set it in motion.

Along the way, the three dozen men on the grand, central lift witnessed the massacre in the castle as they rode down, peering down corridors and watching men or women die and children cry. When they finally reached what should be the bottom, the cries of the dying and scared were but echoes from above, almost drowned out by silence. Jon ripped his spear out of the floor and body and led his men down the only corridor. It was darker, but there was a torch every now and again, and then, there. Several Lannister guards were helping a young blonde girl usher children out of a door. When they heard people approaching, three of the five men turned expecting the lordling and his men, but were instead met with hungry Skagosi savages. The two far men looking at them were silenced with arrows, but the closest drew his dagger and swung at Jon. The king ducked and slammed the shaft of Icicle in to the man's unprotected stomach, and when he bent over, Jon shoved the spike on the bottom of the shaft through his neck, disconnecting the spine. The next two were in a line and Jon rushed forward, slamming the white and black spear through one man and in to the second, and both in to the wall, before Jon ripped out his spear and faced the petrified young girl as Lachtín and another archer inspected the runaways from the doorway, shooting arrows at what must have been men and women amongst the escaping group.

"What is your name, girl?" Jon questioned, and when she opened her mouth he knew she could be no more than twelve.

"My name is Joy Hill," She answered, quivering. So, a bastard.

"Is your father a Lannister?" Jon had to ask, what Lannister would sire a bastard and then bring the child to the Rock?

"Gerion Lannister, he disappeared some years back," Ah, so that was it. The child of Tywin's missing brother. Jon removed his helm to help calm the girl.

"Calm now, my lady. We do not hurt children, but I'm afraid you must come with us."

"But why?" She was trembling.

"Because you are a Lannister, and I'm sure you would make your cousin Jaime's days much brighter in the Riverlands."

"Why can't I just stay here?" Tears streamed down her face.

"Because there is no one to take care of you, and if you stay, you'll burn," Jon answered, and Joy looked somewhat curious until she saw the men setting up the caches of wildfire, turning her mouth in to a horrified "o". "Come, my lady," He had connected a strap under his helm which he allowed to be around his neck now, leaving the helm resting on the hood of the cloak under his armor. Jon strapped the shield on top of his sword's scabbards on his back, and offered an arm to the girl which she took, trembling and burying her face in to the warm cloak offered to her. She followed him, as did all men who were not needed for setting up the wildfire on each floor. The group of men entered the lift, and rose to the top of the ancient fortress. They exited and climbed the stairs, reaching the main doors and their mounts. When they mounted, Joy on Cadeyrn, petting his hair, they took off down the bridge. Once there, he regrouped with the members of his crew who had come to the Rock and not gone back to the ship.

"Arik, Kira, the fleet will go South, meeting up with the others, to the Shield Islands, I want them taken and held, scout forces on the East, North, and South islands, the main force on the Western Island. Kira, you and the _Saltwind_ will go North first, and you, Kira, will travel with her on horseback to the nearest lord. Tell him to transport her immediately to the Kingslayer. Then, you all will rejoin the fleet, don't burn the Shields yet, or kill any non-warriors. If the Shields are attacked, burn and kill them all quick as you can, flee to the Arbor, take it and burn it. Then, if and when they come for that, I want you to sail around Dorne. Let Prince Doran know that he should transport some warships of his own to the Western and Southern side of Dorne so that he can control the Western Sea. Understood?"

"Aye, my king," They both replied.

"Good, now, I want the entire fleet out of range of the fire and explosion, as well as possible debris, by the time the dawn arrives. That is when we will light the fuses. Myself and the cavalry will cut a bloody swathe across these lands, and will stay here to light the fuses. I want you all gone by day. Now go, prepare, plunder." Jon transferred Joy to Kira's horse, her and her twin brother riding off with the girl as Jon waited with Skulgarth and the Skagosi cavalry joined them, around five hundred horsemen with spears, axes, and swords, and around one hundred archers on horseback. They still were not completely used to shooting from horseback, most of them at least, but they were practicing now, as they had been since they had gotten their horses in the Riverlands. And so, they waited.

By the time was almost there, the entire fleet had set out to their duties, leaving nothing more than a fuse halfway across the bridge which led to thousands of crates of wildfire that had very nearly robbed Skagos dry, though the war in Essos had helped pay it off, as well as a small loan with the Iron Bank that Jon had paid off already. It was more than enough to put the rock in pieces. At least, Jon hoped. His smartest men had timed the burning of the rope in tests and had made it thicker coils to the nearer caches, so that all wildfire would light at once. Jon had the honor of lighting the fuse as his six hundred companions waited anxiously for Jon to light it. The Stark stood next to Cadeyrn, Ghost at his side, Icicle in one hand and a torch in the other as he waited until, there, the first sliver of the sun. He quickly touched the lit flame of the torch to the rope before extinguishing the torch in a bowl of water he had laid nearby, to keep the torch as a trophy. He jumped on his trusted mount and whistled at Ghost, riding full gallop, as hard as he possibly could to his men. When he reached them, they all took off at the same speed, getting faster and faster until they were going Jon's speed, racing away from the fireball sure to consume one of the most infamous homes in all of Westeros. When they were a third of a league away, they decided that perhaps they could stop, they had heard nothing as of yet. So, the men stopped, allowing their horses the chance to stop and regain their energy, munching on grass and drinking from a small stream.

Just as Jon thought that perhaps the system was flawed or they had been cheated by the Alchemist's Guild, he looked towards the Rock and saw it. Something was off. And then, as if out of nowhere it was so sudden, a green ball of flame enveloped Casterly Rock, and Jon could feel the ground slightly shake, vibrating. He was sure the base, the foundation of the rock would survive, it was a small mountain after all, but the structures inside as well as most of the outside above a certain point would be demolished. It was hard to imagine it surviving with the shaking it caused and the fire ball that was produced from it. The rumbling was so great, Jon imagined a hundred giants couldn't top it.

When the rumbling and crumbling had ceased, Jon's men cheered, and Jon smiled. Skulgarth congratulated him on his victory, stating that the Gods seemed to smile on him even in a land with none of the Gods' Holy trees. Jon thanked him, and turned to his men, bidding them to follow as he rode off South and East to the home of the monster Gregor Clegane.

- **Linebreak** -

When Jon came upon the hill that Clegane's Keep sat below, Jon gazed upon it with distrust and disgust. Though he was sure the first Clegane men were fine men, and that Sandor was a man Jon knew very little about, Gregor Clegane was a rabies infested dog and needed to be put down. If that meant burning the dog's den to draw him back, then so be it.

Jon and his men rode down the hill towards the small, wood keep, as it's people looked terrified, even more so than usual, and two men attempted to close and lock the gates, only to catch several arrows each. By the time their bodies had stopped moving, Jon and his men were inside the keep, axes and swords flailing, Jon's and others spears stabbing and lashing, arrows flying. The kids ran terrified, as they always do, and the men and women died. No notable warriors happened upon the Skagosi as they put the adults to the sword and the structures to the torch. When all the buildings were properly on fire save for the keep itself, Jon rushed in, encountering a group of men inside. Jon threw Icicle at one's chest, impaling him and knocking him in to a comrade. Longclaw and Dawn unsheathed, flailing left and right, batting aside slashes and dealing out their own. Before Jon knew it, he was on the final man, the one who had been knocked over by the man around Jon's spear. As the man struggled to get up in his armor, Jon drove both of his trusted blades through his torso, in his back and out his chest. When he pulled them out, they were covered in Clegane's men's blood. Jon quickly wiped them off, placing them in their scabbards and ripping down the banner of House Clegane from the wall, crumpling it up and running outside with it just as soon as his men started torching the keep.

He jumped on his horse and motioned his men south, towards Crakehall. They rode out in the evening, and by midday were forced to stop for rest halfway through the forest on the way to Crakehall.

As Jon lie his head down, he dreamed of green flames and red swords, and secretly, the look on Tywin Lannister's face when he saw this mess. Then, he dreamed of being Ghost, chasing down a Westerlands man in the woods. And Jon smiled.


	14. Chapter 14: Direwolf In a Snake Pit

**Sup guys, back at it again with Jon's badassery. Have you prepared yourselves?**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 14: Direwolf In a Snake Pit**

When Jon awoke, he was in only trousers, no boots or armor or shirt, his swords by his side but sheathed, and his spear in his arms with his dagger at his waist, and it was to the sound of birds chirping and horses neighing. Then, a laugh, and the sound of hooves near enough. Jon looked down, noticing his position behind the tree, shielded from whoever was near. He rose up, slowly, and peered around the trunk. Five men on horseback, dressed in mail and surcoats of brown and white. Crakehall men, far behind a much larger party ahead of them. All five had swords at their waists, and none looked to be knights. However, one could never tell the danger at hand by simply looking at it. Searching for his men, Jon looked over, noticing Lachtín and several other of the best archers behind their own trees farther down, in danger of being spotted, bows out and arrows notched. Lachtín looked at Jon, and Jon looked back at the slim, blonde, fair-skinned youth, in the blue eyes was a certain sense of determination only a true hunter could understand. Jon nodded at him, holding up five fingers on his left hand, his right clutching his spear. Lachtín turned, motioning with his free hand at the other archers, five fingers. When he looked back to Jon, Jon held up his index, middle, and thumb fingers in a the way one would hold an arrow on the bowstring. He released them and motioned at the ground, pointing at it and setting his foot on it before holding up a fist, meaning zero. He held his thumbs up, in line with each other, looking down them for aiming. Then, he motioned to his eyes and throat.

 _Five men, shoot on zero, and aim for the eyes or neck_. Lachtín Sealgaire motioned to the other archers, all understanding perfectly well. Jon held up five fingers, putting them down one by one, timing it so that the archers would have a perfect view. _4, 3, 2, 1… 0 GO!_ Lachtín and the others stepped from behind their respective trees, arrows ready to loose. Lachtín's was the first to go, as always, and it found it's mark, as always, the right eye of the farthest man, leaving the easier shots for the still good, but not as great, other archers. They more or less found their marks, save for all but one who missed by a few inches, shooting the lead man through his cheek, and probably out the other side of his mouth. It knocked him off his horse, but failed to kill him. Jon ran out from behind his tree, his bare feet making not even a sound as he did so, sprinting past trees and jumping over leaves, being as careful as possible.

By the time Jon got there, the man was back on his feet and facing away from Jon, the five hunters following close behind their king. Jon leapt forward and thrust Icicle through the back of the lower of the man's skull, the tip sprouting out of his mouth and snapping the arrow like a twig. Jon pulled out the spear and caught the body, hurriedly undressing the corpse in his arms. He turned to the quickest of the archers as he did so.

"Go back and tell the others where we're going, rouse them and ready them, and make sure they grab my stuff. You four, put on those clothes, drag the bodies in to the ditch, grab the horses and let's go, I've got a plan. Tell them to wait in the treeline, far enough to hide but close enough to see. Give a signal when you're all ready. When the gates open and nobody comes out, I want them to charge Crakehall, understand?" The men all nodded at what they'd been told, and they hurried to do it.

When the five finally caught up to the larger party, they were on the bridge leading to the gates of Crakehall, and they stayed far enough back to keep from prying eyes, but close enough to not seem shady. Even though the helms and garb covered them, subtle nuances about them could give them away if anyone who was expecting and knew the men they killed saw Jon and his friends.

The gates opened wide, and the contingent of men entered the fortress, Jon and his men close behind, though stopping behind a tavern immediately inside the gates, rather than continuing on towards wherever the contingent was going. Lachtín went to the corner, and upon judging they had officially gone, came back and told Jon.

"Alright boys, get your arms loose and your fingers ready, we're heading up to the ramparts. When the signal comes, I'm heading down to the gates, and we're going to hold them, no matter the cost. Good to go?" The men nodded, and Jon led them in to the street, still covered but leisurely strolling. They strolled up the stairs, on to the battlements, and watched.

Finally, after half an hour of waiting and watching, Jon saw it, Lachtín as well. Ghost walked out of the treeline, a rolled up banner covered in blood in his mouth. So, Jon made his way down to the gates. Once at the gates, he spoke to the half a dozen men standing there.

"Open the gates, some little lordling wants in," Jon yelled, doing his best Westerlands accent. It seemed to have worked as the men opened the gates, only stopping when they were almost completely open and the head guard realized that the lordling was nowhere to be found.

He turned around, reaching for his sword, but Jon stabbed upwards with his spear, catching the man under the jaw and spearing him through the brain. His hand dropped, and Jon spun around while tearing the white spear out, swinging it like a sword and letting it scrape the jugulars of two oncoming guards. Three men were left, and all charged Jon at once. He ducked down at the last second, sticking his spear up, so that the man behind him and to the front of him impaled themselves on the spear. Then, he turned and pulled out his knife, holding it in the reverse knife grip with the edge in while kicking the third man in the chest. He hit one of the doors of the gate, the crash a resounding thud. When the man charged forward, Jon ducked and pulled man in, kneeing him in the ribs sideways. The man bent slightly, allowing Jon to stab Northwind through his neck from the side. When the hilt touched his neck, Jon placed his left hand on the chin of the man, pushing away from himself with it while pulling the opposite direction with the knife. The large, Valyrian steel blade tore out of his throat easily enough, and the blood sprayed Jon's body and face. He turned and had no time to grab his spear before the next man was upon him.

Jon leaned back avoid a swipe, surging forward and jabbing his knife just quick enough to catch the men in the throat before he could fully lean back. The next man came, a massive man in knight's armor, and Jon grabbed his spear and jumped up, kicking off the wall and stabbing Icicle in to the chink in the armor at the collar bone. He was dead before Jon pulled out his spear. Then, the next man was there, and attempted to tackle Jon, only managing to force Jon to bend over and allow the helm, mail, tunic and surcoat to slide off so that Jon was shirtless once more. He turned and noticed that men were being shot down constantly by his archer friends, but a heavily armored man with seemingly no chinks was moving to step up the stairs. Jon threw his spear, the Valyrian steel tip managing to get through the thick visor, penetrating the man's head. The Stark quickly ripped out Northwind and went back to work.

The man who had attempted to tackle Jon was charging him, and Jon ducked under his strike, holding his knife in a reverse grip with the edge out. He came up and swiped the blade across the man's throat, from the man's left to his right. Jon's body was outside but his arm was inside the man's guard to slice his throat, allowing Stark to grab his arm and spin him, taking the impact of the mace that had been meant for him. Jon leaned back from another swing, then another, finally ducking under a third. He switched the grip on his knife to a hammer grip, jumping forward and stabbing it in to the mace man's throat. When he ripped the blade out, blood shot on to Jon, joining the blood already all over him. He kicked the man in to the next foe, waiting for the next after him.

The more lightly armored man jumped over the bodies with a longsword in hand. He expertly flicked it out as Jon switched back to reverse grip with the edge out and leaned back. The swordsman slashed downward, and Jon waited until his slash was complete before jumping in, jumping and punching the man in the helm, knocking him back, though his foot came up to block Jon's next leap. When Jon stumbled back, another man ran at him from the side, and Jon stabbed Northwind in to his kidney before ripping it out, turning to look at the swordsman and barely having time at all to dodge the swipe coming for him. It wasn't quite enough, and Jon caught the slash with his body, gaining a slice from left shoulder to bottom right rib, not deep, but not entirely shallow.

Jon stepped back, growling, and looked at the oncoming line of men, all behind shields save for the swordsman. He held up his dagger, got in his stance, and yelled.

"Come on you cunts!" Just as Jon finished his challenge, a line of horses came from around him and smashed through the lines, followed by a stream of even more horses. It went on for a while, four horses at a time, and then it stopped, though the cries of battle continued.

When Jon stepped back in to the city, he was met by Skulgarth on the side of the tavern immediately inside. He had five horses behind him, and every one with his and his friends' gear. Jon was closely followed by the four archers, including Lachtín, only two of them injured, one with an arrow in the arm, the other in another's leg. They quickly slipped on their own clothing and armor, placing their weapons where they were meant to go. When they finished, Jon grabbed his spear from the man he had thrown it at earlier and jumped on Cadeyrn, rearing up and speeding down the street as fast as possible, the five men behind him.

By the time Jon had reached the actual keep, his men were already there, cutting down guards, men, and women alike, the children fleeing. The homes burned in the warm, white sun and the blood was spilled on the warm, grassy ground, the men from the cold Northern island putting an entire fortress to the sword. Westerland men died bravely, the women quickly, and Death ran rampant in the streets of Crakehall. The Lord Reaper sat in judgment on his dark steed, weighing down souls with steel and fire.

When Jon looked at the green, tree infested cliff across the bridge, he saw a man on horseback, watching, taking in the scene below him. A scout, surely. Jon held his free hand up, greeting him, letting him know he saw him. The man saw the bloody armor and the direwolf helm and turned, trotting off. Jon set out towards the bridge, followed by men covered in glory, stuffing gold and silver in their packs. Jon didn't mind, this was war, and his men were to be rich for their actions, so long as he had a say in it.

When the last of his men had rejoined him on the other side of the bridge, he told them that half would be coming with him, the other half with Lachtín. The group with Lachtín would cut through the forest, heading for the Red Lake. Jon and his would go around the forest, then head for the Red Lake, in an attempt to throw any spies or trackers off, at least momentarily. Then, they would all head North, up the offshoot of the Mander that came up these mountains, and from the mountains they would ride down on Cornfield. Double back afterwards, and continue their reign of terror with Silverhill. Then, while the Lannisters were most assuredly going back West for him, Jon would South and East, in between Bitterbridge and Tumbleton, so that Jon could get on to the Rose Road and head East and North.

- **Linebreak** -

Tyrion enters the Small Council Room, unknowing of the urgent matters that would call such a meeting. Baelish seemed calm, Varys as well, though they both were most likely knowledgeable of the matters at hand. Pycelle and Cersei were no more informed than Tyrion himself. When the smallest Lannister sat down, it began.

"So what is it that this meeting was called for, my lords? I have very urgent matters to attend to," Cersei began, impatient and arrogant as always. Tyrion was more curious than her, especially when Varys produced a scroll from his sleeve with the seal of House Lannister on it.

"It would seem that some ill fate has befallen the Westerlands, Your Grace. Here," Varys handed the scroll to Tyrion, who readily opened it, reading the contents and being stunned speechless.

"What is it?" Cersei rudely asked, expecting something trivial.

"It would appear that we underestimated the younger Stark king. It's from Father. He says that the Thirsty Wolf snuck his fleet, or some of it at least, in to the West, burned Lannisport, the ships and the city. He put Casterly Rock to the sword, and when he was finished, the Skagosi filled it with wildfire, decimating the castle. The ships left but Jon Stark and some cavalry stayed. They then put Clegane's Keep, Crakehall, and Cornfield to the sword as well. No word or reply has come back from Silverhill, and it's thought they've burnt it to the ground as well. Father heads back to the Westerlands, it's believed that Robb Stark has hit Ashemark."

Cersei was speechless, as was Tyrion and Pycelle, though both of the major spy owners, Baelish and Varys, were no more shocked than the other. When Cersei got up and left, she uttered no words, and wordlessly, the entire Small Council left as well. Tyrion got up, waddling out of the room and through the Red Keep, deep in thought. He thought of the time he talked with Jon Stark at Winterfell, how he had seemed bright, though self-blinding. It would seem he had stopped blinding himself. Stark men apparently had a gift for war, strategy and tactic both. When Tyrion was shaken from his thoughts, it was by almost running in to Sansa who was trying to enter her room. He stopped her.

"My lady Sansa, I must speak with you a moment."

"Yes, my lord?"

"I fear Joffrey will do something to punish you fro your brothers again, and I must warn you of it. It would appear that your brother Jon has been cutting a bloody and fiery sweep across the Westerlands, even destroying my childhood home of Casterly Rock. You will surely be punished, so, I ask you to be very quiet, and make not a movement in this Keep for the next few weeks, lest he attack you for your brothers," By the time Tyrion had stopped, Sansa looked surprised, but also had tears in her eyes.

"I thank you, my lord. Now I must go," She entered her room, closing the door behind her. _MY mercy will be the death of me_.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon was stern and straight-faced as the 600 men rode, hard set for the Rose Road. East of Renly, whose flowery friends had mostly gone back to the Reach to prepare to fight Jon's men on the Shields. South and East of Tywin and the Lannister forces. West of Stannis and his forces, or so Jon thinks. West of King's Landing. South of the Westerlands and the Riverlands, where word was that Lord Beric Dondarrion and the Lord of Light's servant Thoros hunted for his head.

Just as Jon was beginning to wonder whether they were going in the correct direction, Jon looked and found Bitterbridge to his right, fairly far West, though close enough to find him with scouts. Right when Jon was about to tell his men they would go further East to prevent being caught, they came across a group of forty people on horseback, half of them with different banners, the lead one wearing a blue jay. For the other half, though, many of them are men Jon recognizes, flying the direwolf of the Winterfell Starks. There, leading them, is one of Jon's mothers, Catelyn Stark.

Jon knows his men recognize their king's mother and do not attack, instead circling around the group of men until they come to an eventual stop, Jon lined up with the land in between the two party leaders, though fifteen feet away from either of them. Every Skagosi man waits with his hand on his weapon for one hostile move by some Southerner, untrusting of Southerners with the king's family, save for the Dornish.

"I believe that is my mother you have here, Ser. I would ask you back away," Jon said, gritting his teeth as he did so, attempting to sound proper and chivalrous.

"We are merely a welcoming party sent by King Renly at Bitterbridge," The knight speaks.

"Jon, it is alright. My son, Robb, King of the North and Lord of Winterfell, has sent me here to speak terms with King Renly," Catelyn answers the both of them.

"Renly is the one true king of all of the Seven Kingdoms," The knight replies, turning and trotting off with Catelyn, her twenty Winterfell men, a Manderly knight, and 600 murderous Skagosi riders.

When the party of almost 700 men, plus one woman, arrives at the camp of Bitterbridge, many of the men already there seem incredibly surprised to see them. Most glance at the gray direwolf on white, but glare and back away from the bloody black direwolf on gray. They work their way through the immense camp, until they reach a tourney melee beneath the walls of the castle. The lords there treat Catelyn as the men did the gray direwolf, but treat Jon the way they treat his own sigil. It's no wonder, considering Jon carries his swords and shield on his back, his spear in hand, knife at waist and helm under left arm, still being almost completely covered in the blood of men from the West. Jon needs not to care, for with over 600 hundred Skagosi and Northmen behind him, the lords can order nothing without being put to the sword.

A large knight in shining blue armor battles with a lone knight in golden rose armor, the blue with a mace and the gold with an axe. _Fuckin' madness_ , Jon thinks. He and his brother have been spilling blood in three kingdoms, and they sit here playing at war? Eventually, the large, blue knight pulls a fancy little trick, tackling the smaller gold knight, placing his dagger underneath the other knight's chin. When he concedes, many of the men boo and complain, yelling at the "unfairness" and "dishonor" of the move. _Fuckin' fools_.

"The Knights of Summer," Jon's mother whispers beside him, and he grunts in agreement. When it turns out the knight is a woman, and asks to be in Renly's _Fuckin' Rainbow Guard_ , Jon nearly loses his temper. Not at the woman, but at the idea of a Rainbow Guard. Then, the knight who led them here, Ser Colen of Greenpools, interrupted the festivities by yelling to a young, broad and tall man in green plate, with dark black hair and blue eyes, like a younger version of his eldest brother, Robert. Beside Renly was a beautiful girl with thick, softly curling brown hair and large, brown eyes.

"Your Grace, I present to you, Lady Catelyn Stark, mother of Robb Stark, and her son, Jon Stark."

"My son Robb is King in the North and Lord of Winterfell, my son Jon is King of Skagos and Lord of Kingshouse, Ser."

"It is customary to kneel and say Your Grace when speaking to the one true rightful king of all the Seven Kingdoms," Brienne states, almost glaring at them. Jon's not sure whether it's meant to be intimidating or not, either way, it has no effect on the Skagosi king.

"We do not kneel, not even to our own kings. And by what right is he king? He has no claim to the right of conquest as Robert did, nor does he have the claim of being the eldest in the line like Stannis. So, by what right?" Jon asks, and many seemed outraged, though they had no answer to it.

"Calm down, Brienne. The Thirsty Wolf is a temperamental beast, and one that enjoys killing and burning. What's left of the Rock can attest to that," Renly states, putting a hand on Brienne's shoulder.

"Robb Stark should have come to pay homage himself, my lady, like this one of yours has," Randyll Tarly spoke at Catelyn.

"My sons are busy fighting a war, my lord, not playing at one," Catelyn replies, cold as Jon.

"My Lord Tarly, it would seem you are outmatched," Renly laughed, along with several others. "Is Jaime Lannister still a prisoner at Riverrun?"

"As far as I know, he is still a prisoner," Catelyn said.

"The Direwolf is gentler than the Lion," Renly declared, before looking at Jon, "Well, some Direwolves, at least. I vow, I shall serve the Lannisters' heads on plates to you, my lady!"

"Justice will be enough," Catelyn responded.

"Walk with me, Lady Catelyn, King Jon, you may make use of my pavilion tonight after we talk," Renly stated, standing up and leaving the box he sat in, followed by the Brienne, Cat, and Jon. When they reached a certain ledge overlooking the river Mander, Renly turned to the three of them.

"Brienne, I think you can leave us," When Brienne went to protest, he held up his hand. "The only dangerous one of these two is Jon, and if he wanted me dead, he would have done it when his hundreds of men rode in to out tourney grounds. He is a smart man, and will not kill me now, not when over half a hundred thousand men wait here, his mother near them."

Brienne looked like she wanted to protest, but closed her mouth and nodded, stalking off.

"A nice girl," Catelyn stated.

"Yes, very loyal, though I fear she loves me," Renly replied.

"So Loras's dislike for her is merely jealousy I suppose?" Jon asked, not smirking or attempting to goad the young Baratheon, merely asking a question.

"Yes, I suppose so, though perhaps a little bit of wounded pride as well," Renly answered back. "Look at that," He gestured to his camp, "75,000 men, all marching to make me king. There would be 20,000 more, but they've returned home to deal with your little intrusion on their homes," Renly stated, looking at Jon.

"That won't be enough," Jon replied.

"What? The 20,000 after your fleet? Or the 95,000 to take Westeros?" Renly asked, smug.

"Both," Jon replied, wiping the smug smirk off of Renly's face. "I have thousands of men on the Shields. You know that, I know that. I have more men on those Islands than I used to take the Iron Islands. 20,000 men is nothing to them anymore. And 95,000 men won't beat all of Westeros."

"How so?" Renly asked, ignoring the Shields. "95,000 men is more than you have. With Skagos and the North, you have, what, half of that? I admire your ferocity, but we have the number."

"If war was based on numbers, businessmen would order kings and Robert would have been smashed at the Trident. Besides, the North and Skagos are not alone."

"What do you..." Renly trailed off, eyes going wide. "They say you married Arianne Martell. They did not lie, did they?"

Jon didn't answer, but looked out on the banners of the South.

"Pretty banners, Baratheon, but flowers, fruits and hunters do not scare the North. The first two cease to exist in the snows, and the third, well, he ceases to exist when he meets what is in the snows." Catelyn flicked Jon's ear, prompting him to turn to his mother in shock.

"We have come to speak peace, not spar with Renly, Jon."

"No, Lady Catelyn, your son has the right of it. I despise the sly-eyed and silver-tongued politicians, and I appreciate his candor. He has told me nothing I had not already theorized, and no offense has been taken. I would ask that your eldest son bend the knee to me, he can call himself King in the North even after it, as the Dornish keep their titles, but I must have his allegiance. Jon, I ask nothing of. Skagos has its freedom, guaranteed by Robert," Renly ranted calmly, not quite explaining why, but answering nonetheless. Suddenly, a messenger came to them.

"Your Grace," The man knelt, and Renly waved him to his feet.

"What is it, friend?" Renly answered, kind to even the men of the lowest birth.

"Storm's End is under siege, Your Grace, though Ser Cortnay Penrose defies the attackers even now."

"King Jon, I had thought you had lured the Old Lion back in to the West."

"It's not the Lannisters, Your Grace, it's your brother Stannis, calling himself _King_ Stannis."

- **Linebreak** -

When Jon and his mother, with Ser Manderly, as well as Skulgarth and Lachtín, rode behind Renly and his men with Brienne and the rest of his Rainbow Guard to meet Stannis and his party, Jon expected better attitudes amongst brothers, bicker though they may. Instead, he saw two grown men who share the same blood fight and argue, looking angry enough to kill, on Stannis's part at least. Though, Stannis looked to be unsure whether he would kill Renly or Jon first.

"Brother, I do not recognize your banners," Renly stated.

"King Stannis has taken for his sigil the Flaming Heart of R'hllor, The Lord of Light," The Red Woman next to Stannis declared. Skulgarth snorted in derision, and when she looked at him, he merely looked back with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Starks, I had not expected to find you with my traitor brother, though viciousness and betrayal is never far from your sons, my lady," Stannis said to Cat. She was near furious, but Jon answered instead.

"Betrayal? I see no betrayal. Robert fought for freedom against the Targaryens, and he was a hero for it, not a traitor. Your claim in this war is to the Iron Throne by birth right, ours is to our own thrones and by conquest."

"Your father died for my cause, attempting to make me king, as is my right. You would dishonor him by fighting me?"

"No, I would honor him by fighting for what is right, and placing R'hllor to rule us is not right. The worshipers of the Seven condemn their enemies. The followers of R'hllor burn them. We who keep the true Gods, the Gods of tree and stone, the Gods of the Weirwoods, we kill our enemies. No matter how righteous they may be," Jon answered. When Stannis went to reply, his face red, Jon interrupted.

"I grow tired of childish banter, which is what you two have brought to me, no matter how good of men you may be. Come, Mother, let us return to the camp, gather our things. We will garner no help here, and we have wars to win," Jon turned Cadeyrn in the opposite direction and rode off with the four in his company close behind him.

- **Linebreak** -

It was dark when Renly returned, and Jon and Cat sat in his tent, waiting for him. When he entered, he looked at them moodily before going over to his armor, Brienne who was close behind him getting to work on putting it on him.

"I had thought you would have left by now, Starks," Renly said darkly.

"Aye, so did I, but my mother wished to speak with you once more over these matters," Jon told him.

"King Renly, you can not do this. He is your brother! We must all join together to eradicate the Lannisters from the realm!" Cat was worked up.

"No, that man is not my brother. And to think I loved him once. We shall fight at dawn. Perhaps you should stay, so that you can witness what happens to my enemies for your son." Brienne continued to put on his armor, tying on the gorget as Cat sighed. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move in the tent, and she thought herself delusional. But Jon stiffened next to her, gently pushing her behind him and gripping his spear tighter, lifting it and placing his left foot out in his stance. When the shadow came nearer, they both saw it, the face of Stannis Baratheon. Brienne saw it, and attempted to warn Renly who looked up and at it directly.

The sword in the shadow's hands cut clean through the fine plate, opening his throat. When Brienne gasped and shrieked, attempting to cut open the shade, it dissipated, and Lord Bryce Caron, Ser Emmon Cuy, and Ser Robar Royce entered, alarmed. When they entered they saw Brienne with her sword out and Jon with his spear at the ready. They did not know who to blame, the known savage who single-handedly defeated Jaime Lannister, or the freakishly large woman who stood a few feet from him.

"All three of you are under arrest," Lord Caron stated, advancing with the two knights.

"You don't understand," Brienne started.

"It was a shade," Catelyn said next.

"Aye, they tell the truth of it Sers, don't attempt to apprehend us," Jon warned.

"You think us afraid of you, savage? Prepare to die," Ser Emmon Cuy declared, him and Royce charging Jon who pushed Cat further back, and Lord Caron charging Brienne.

Jon turned and smacked Robar Royce with the butt of Icicle, though he grabbed the shaft before it could be retracted and pulled it. Jon let it go and Royce let it drop to the ground. Jon ripped out Longclaw and Dawn, the two shorter and quicker weapons, much more suitable for the large tent than the spear. Cuy swiped at Jon who leaned back, dodging it before straightening up and lashing out at Emmon. Emmon caught the blow with his sword, and Jon kicked his stomach with moderate power to push him back so he could slash downward at Ser Robar. Robar let the blade glance off his own before Longclaw came crashing down, scraping against his red armor. Dawn came back scraped across it from side to side, stunning Royce that he came so close to death. Jon side kicked him and turned the kick in to a force to push him towards Cuy, stabbing Longclaw towards him. Cuy parried it, but Dawn came to his waist and he bent over, pushing his waist back. Jon brought Longclaw down on his collarbone, entering the body of the knight through his yellow armor. Jon stuck Dawn deep in to his right thigh, eliciting a scream before Jon spun and drove Longclaw behind his back in to the upper back of Ser Emmon Cuy. Cuy gasped a final breath before Jon spun and removed his head from his shoulders with Dawn.

When Jon looked up, Robar Royce was ready to fight again and Jon pulled out Longclaw. He shoved the body down and jumped off of it, sending a flying front kick at the unexpecting knight Royce. It caught him in the chest, sending him back to almost tip over a dresser that was against the tent. When he caught his balance and looked back, Jon had brought both his swords to Robar's helm, the flat sides of the blades clanging against it and deafening him. He dropped his sword and bent over, covering his ears, and Jon moved his hands to the back of the Vale knight's head, holding it down while sending a knee in to the area of the helm over his temple, knocking it in and knocking out Royce, though the force sent him back in to the dresser and the tent, knocking them both in to the canvas and bringing half the tent down.

Jon turned back to his mother and Brienne, looking at Jon with wide eyes.

"Come on, we have to leave. Come with us Brienne, you can't stay here," Catelyn ordered, dragging the numb girl behind her. They escaped from the tent as Jon sheathed his blades and grabbed Icicle, following them just in time to miss the men entering the tent as a lamp knocked over and caught it on fire. Once outside, Skulgarth rode up with Jon and Catelyn's horses as Brienne trotted over to hers. When she got on her steed, Jon yelled.

"Skagosi! With me!" And the over 600 Skagosi and Northmen followed him, trailing behind as he sped out of camp, North and West, a chaotic and confused camp of Southerners behind them.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon, Cat, and their group had been traveling through the Kingswood for a few days now, taking their time and moving slowly, so as not to be caught rushing head first in to a trap of some sorts. Finally, when they reach a road crossing a river, the Wendwater, Jon turned to his mother.

"Mother, I must send you back to Robb. You will travel under the protection of my men West and North. Avoid all cities and castles, just keep moving until you all get back to the Riverlands."

"What do you mean? You are coming with us, are you not?" Cat was worried.

"No, Mother, not yet. I will take twenty of my best men with me, that is it. Every day Sansa is in that damned city, she suffers because of this war. I will not stand for it any longer. My men and I will gather Father's bones, Ice, and most importantly, Sansa. We'll escape and make it North, I promise," Jon told her, hugging her and kissing her cheek. She prepared to leave with tears in her eyes, surrounded by 600 men.

"Skulgarth, Lachtín, each of you pick nine more men, I want there to be ten archers and ten swordsmen or axemen. Daimhín, you will pick three men and come with us to take care of the horses and equipment while we're inside the city."

"Aye," The three responded, choosing some of the best but leaving many of the good ones to travel with the king's mother.

While Cat left with 600 men, the twenty-five who had a job to do in the South prepared. They cut their hair to appear to be more Southern. They stored their armor and weapons in their packs on their saddles. Jon stored his armor, spear, shield, and swords, but kept Northwind and put on his disguise. Extremely light brown leather armor over his black clothes, nothing but a chest plate, pauldrons, and bracers. He then attached a regular steel longsword, in decent shape, to his belt, on his left hip whereas his knife was on his right, handle pointing forward, edge to the ground. They shaved their facial hair, all of them, dressing similar to Jon, and grabbed the Westerosi coin they had at hand, as well as some of the silver and gold trinkets they had at hand. They walked and walked, finding the edge of the forest closest to King's Landing, then they found the nearest cave. When Daimhín and his three men were settled in the cave, Jon and his twenty men said their goodbyes and set off.

- **Linebreak** -

The Stark King traveled with Skulgarth and Rumann through the underground, every other Skagosi in a pair, archer with archer, foot man with foot man. They all knew their plan. The foot men would find their way in to the city to sell the loot before moving back in to the underground network, moving to sneak in to the Red Keep as Jon, Skulgarth, and Rumann all did. The archers, normally the best of the hunters on Skagos, would find a way on the rooftops of buildings and maybe even the keep itself, as well as through the gardens. Whoever found Lord Eddard's bones or Ice would return it to the room they had decided upon at the grate entering the underground network where they had come in. They would all work their way to the front right corner of the Red Keep, and if there was no findings by nightfall, they would all return to the room.

Just as Jon finished mulling over the plan, going over every detail and possible outcome, he and the duo behind him finally found a ladder after the 100th winding turn they had come across. Jon climbed up the ladder, pressing around on the stone slab above him until it moved, sliding rather easily when Jon willed it to, quietly and smoothly. Some ashes and wood rained down on the three men on the ladder. Catching some of the heavier pieces, Jon raise his head in the opening, looking around and finding nobody. He set the wood down inside of the fireplace they were emerging from, and rose up out of the fireplace, dusting himself off and helping the other two men out. Just then when they were all up and in the room, two figures entered the room, not noticing the three strange men at first.

The first to enter was a young, slim and short girl, pretty, with black hair and slightly dark skin, probably from the Free Cities. The other was an extremely short man, with curly, dark blonde hair and two mismatched eyes, one green and one black. He was clean shaved, but appeared tired with a very small amount of stubble, unnoticeable really. Tyrion Lannister. The two seemed to be arguing, but stopped and looked at Jon when he took his first step. They turned and looked ready to shout when Jon whipped out the sword at his waist and jumped forward, kicking the door shut. He held the sword under Tyrion's chin for but a second before the girl jumped at him with a dagger. He dodged and rammed his shoulder in to her body, sending her flying back on to the bed. The dagger was ripped out of her hand by Skulgarth who then picked her up by her tunic with one massive hand. Jon returned the sword point to Tyrion who stared at him.

"You cut off my brother's hand, if I do recall the message correctly," Tyrion stated after a moment of studying his face. When the girl realized Jon was the Northerner they whispered about, she grew a bit paler, and looked nervous.

"Aye, gave me the best fight of my bloody life, your brother, a true warrior, and a true knight if I ever met one," Jon replied, noting the surprise in Tyrion's eyes before Jon spoke again. "They say you tried to have my brother, Bran, killed. Any truth to that?"

"The only evidence to support it is a dagger that your mother said Baelish said is mine, that was in the hands of the assassin. Baelish is a snake, and I'm no idiot to arm an assassin with my own dagger," Tyrion answered, and he sighed when Jon nodded.

"Now, I hope you'll forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but I can't let you or the girl leave after this. You'll be tied, and left with my man Rumann. When we return, we'll untie you. Deal?"

"Very well, Stark. Do as you will," Tyrion responded, holding his hands out.

After they had gotten the two tied, Jon and Skulgarth left, and began walking circles around the immense keep. Every time they thought they had found something interesting, they had not. There were so many rooms, and Jon understood why Maegor the Cruel was so cruel. He was driven mad by this damn castle.

Eventually, just when Jon thought to give up, as the sun was dipping low in the sky and they had made their way towards the front right corner of the Red Keep, near the room they had started in, he saw her. Jon saw Sansa walking by the wall, looking down, seemingly having come back from a stroll of some sort. She refused to raise her head and show her face, but Jon knew her anywhere, it was his sister.

"Sansa," Jon called out quietly. When she turned to look for the voice, he called for her again. "Sansa!" She finally turned and saw him, confused for only a split second at the freshly shaved and short haired duo of men staring at her, but then, when she looked in the eyes of the shorter, though still tall, one, she knew it was Jon. He seemed healthy enough, but urgent.

"Jon," She ran over to him, quickly hugging him, feeling like crying.

"Hey, little pup, come on, it's time to go," He turned with her hand in his, and saw Rumann walk around the corner. A sword sprouted from his chest, and a man in white and gold armor and cloak held on to the handle of the sword that was in Jon's man. He pulled the sword out and Rumann fell, dead, a corpse. Jon looked in the opposite direction and saw another two white knights of the Kingsguard walk around the corner. A group of Lannister guards from directly in front of the trio of Northerners, led by a man with a skeletal face and hair only on the sides of his head, though long. In his hands was Ice, his father's greatsword.

"Drop your weapons and you will be treated with respect fit for your station," One of the knights to their right announced, and Jon looked behind them. There was a ledge where the wall ended, and across the ledge was tall building. On the roof of that tall building, Jon's ten archers rushed to get in to position.

"Skulgarth, help the little bird fly to her perch," Jon declared, and as Jon ripped out his sword, Skulgarth grabbed Sansa, turning and flinging her as hard as possible across the gap in between the ledge and the lower rooftop, where she was caught by three of Jon's men. Jon turned back and noticed the group of Lannister pets rushing them.

Skulgarth met his axe with the sword of Ser Balon Swann, who had killed Rumann, and met it again, and again. Jon turned and cut down one Lannister guard, turning and meeting the blade of Ser Boros Blount. They danced back and forth, Meryn Trant joining the frey.

Skulgarth danced back and forth, eventually allowing the cocky Ser Balon to scrape his cheek, causing him to grin, before the giant Skagosi's foot shot out, kicking in the knight's kneecap, his axe swinging and taking off the white helm and the head of the Kingsguard as he was dropping to the ground. Just when he spun around, Ice swung down, entering his body on the inside of his right collar bone. He glared at Payne, unimpressed, and his hand shot out, grabbing the King's Justice's throat. His hand squeezed, his fingers and nails puncturing the skin, entering the windpipe. The skinny man died as Skulgarth died, and Jon growled, ducking under swipe from Meryn and sticking his sword through Boros's face and kicking Trant away from him. He grabbed Ice and tossed it at the other roof, the Valyrian steel greatsword of House Stark floating over to the building, hitting the floor of the roof and being picked up by Lachtín. Then, the archers and crossbowmen started firing at the roof, trying not to hit Sansa. They shot down nine of the archers, but Lachtín, swift of mind and feet, grabbed Ice and Sansa and ran, his hood on to prevent them from getting a good look at him.

When Jon was convinced that his sister and close friend had gotten safely away, Jon turned back around, barely dodging Ser Meryn's slash. His sword met Trant's seven times before he pretended to jab high, instead almost diving downward and stabbing it through the leg of the Kingsguard. He howled in pain, and Jon grabbed the sword, ripping it out and upward, splitting the face with no helm in two. When he assessed his situation, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tyrion all seemed to be behind the wall of guards with spears advancing at Jon, and right when he went to charge at the spearmen, a vicious blow to the back of the head knocked him to the ground, stunned and slipping in to unconsciousness.

"Good job, Sandor. Now, I want you to find the Stark girl and the man she went with, immediately!" Much rushing was heard, and above Jon's eyes he saw a half burned face, a beautiful, middle-aged blonde face, and a dwarf's face, peering down at him before his eyes closed.

- **Linebreak** -

When Jon awakes, it's to water being dumped over his head. His eyes open, then close due to the brightness of his surroundings.

"Wake up," Somebody kicks him in the side, prompting him to growl and open his eyes. His eyes first meet a wooden post which he quickly deduces his hands are tied around. The man with the burned face, Sandor Clegane, is in Kingsguard armor to his right, probably being the one who kicked him. On the other side of the post, several yards away, is Lord Tyrion, facing the post and Jon behind it. He sees nobody else, but he is sure there is more, especially when he hears the crowd. Tyrion walks up to him and whispers in his ear.

"I had your men's bodies burned, as is your people's fashion, I believe, just so you won't worry," He tells Jon, and when Jon whispers a thank you, he leaves back to his original position.

"Jon Stark, false King of Skagos, you are here to answer for the crimes you have committed against the crowd, how do you plead?" A woman's voice asked. Cersei Lannister. Jon looked to his right, noticing Northwind on the Hound's belt and feels a rush of energy, it's so close. Sandor backs away a few steps.

"What crimes? And which crown? There's half a dozen of the fuckers," Jon responds, laughing at his own statement. The crowd jeers and taunts him, and another voice picks up.

"My crown, you dolt, the one and only crown that matters!" Of course that was Joffrey, screeching like a girl as always. "I am the king!"

"I've killed women scarier than you," Jon responds, before deciding to add, "Your Grace." He could practically feel the heat coming off of Joffrey's head.

"Ser Preston! Teach this insolent heathen some manners!" Joffrey screeched, and Jon wondered what he meant until he felt the lash across his back, as well as hearing the crack of the whip when it moved. Jon grunted out loud before shutting his mouth, clenching his teeth and gritting them. He looked around, picking a spot on the wall behind Tyrion above his right shoulder, looking at it and staring. When the second lash hit, Jon was ready and grunted inwardly. It happened again, and again, until thirty lashes had been dealt out and Jon's vision was unsteady, feeling light-headed and dizzy. He felt arms untie him, and then two men, presumably Sandor and Preston, grab him and pick him up. They held his arms over their shoulders as they pulled him, his feet dragging across the ground, until everything got dark, and the dragging continued, and they propped him up against a wall, putting some shackle around his arms.

 _So. They left me in the Black Cells_. Jon thought. Shouldn't they have killed him? Why hadn't they? Then, Jon thought, if they hadn't, it was because they couldn't afford to. They must not be able to find Sansa. Then, he laughed. He laughed, and he laughed, until he saw a torch approaching.

"Wha..."

- **Linebreak** -

When Jaime Lannister awoke inside his room/cell in the Crag, he looked up to find not his food, but Robb Stark, staring at him and glaring.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Jaime asked, mocking. Just because he liked the boys younger brother didn't mean he would like this one. To stern and stiff, like his father. The Skagosi were the wild, loose Northerners, ones you could learn to like.

"My brother snuck in to the capital to free my sister. I don't know if she's escaped, reports say she has, but they caught my brother. Your bastard son and your sister had him whipped on the platform above the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. They're going to hang him if they find Sansa, they'll have no other use for him," Robb spoke, anger and hatred lacing his tone. Jaime was shocked. The Stark boy Jon was the best fighter he'd ever fought, a warrior on par with Ser Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, or himself. He wondered what could bring him to do such a thing. He didn't love his sister like Jaime loved Cersei, most likely, so Jaime thought. Would he have done what Jon did to save Tyrion? Most likely.

"Why, are you telling me this?" Jaime asked, looking up at the king from under his hair. The blue Tully eyes stared back at him violently.

"My brother's life and wishes to keep you alive and well are the only things keeping you alive and well. If he dies, I'll let the Boltons have you, and I'll send you back to your sister piece by piece," Robb snarled out before turning and storming out of the room, closing and locking it.

Robb thought long and hard on his brother, feeling frustrated and helpless. He was the elder brother, but in the war, Jon had acted more like the bigger brother, not just because he was two inches taller these days but because he had experienced everything war had to offer, and twice. Robb sighed, his shoulders slumping from exhaustion and his head slumping under the crown. It would be time to go and console his mother, distraught over what had happened in King's Landing.

- **Linebreak** -

"You could free me?" Jon asked, staring at the only face he'd seen for the past couple weeks, the person who had come to bring him food and water, as well as ointment and salves for his back.

"I could, but will I? No," Varys answered, shaking his head as Jon laughed. "I'm no hero, King Jon, I mustn't do anything so heroic as that."

"Aye," Jon replied, drinking from the flask of pisswater they called ale that Varys had given him.

"I had this same conversation with your father, when he was down here," Varys replied, and Jon turned to look at him, not laughing for a second before continuing. Varys spoke again, "I'm a spy, and couldn't help him. Spiders don't do heroics."

"Aye, you understand, so you won't mind if your head ends up with the Lannisters," Jon responded, laughing harder than before.

"Excuse me, Your Grace?" Varys asked, unsure as to what Jon meant.

"You are a Spider and a spy. Spiders and spies don't do heroics. I am a Wolf and a Skagosi warrior. Wolves and Skagosi Warriors do not forgive," Jon answered, laughing harder than he had yet, and Varys stood from his position crouching next to Jon.

"Pardon me, King Jon, but I hear men coming and I must be leaving," Varys apologized, bowing and exiting from the same place he came from, taking the torch with him. Before long, another lantern appeared around the corner, illuminating the faces of Sandor Clegane and the two guards of the City Watch who had come for him. When they got to him, Sandor unlocked his shackles from the wall, and the two guards yanked him up, pushing him along. They took several turns, and when they exited, it was out on to the area in front of the Sept of Baelor. Jon looked at the top, and, with little surprise, noticed the scaffold set up to hang him. However, Sansa wasn't there, which was strange.

The guards jostled him up and up, all the way to the top, past the stairs and farther along the platform, Sandor stopping in front of it. Jon inspected his clothes. Varys had been kind enough to provide him buckets to use, so he had not soiled his trousers or his boots, but his tunic and cloak had been torn off him before they whipped him. He would die shirtless, but somewhat decently, with the lacerations from the whipping almost completely healed. They jostled him up once more, on to the raised platform, where they tied the noose around his neck and he waited.

"Jon of House Stark, due to your crimes against the Crown, I sentence you to die. Any words?" Joffrey asked, gleeful.

"Where's my sister?"

"We're close to finding her, Mother says," Joffrey responded, oblivious.

Jon thought on that and started laughing, harder than he ever had before. Sansa was long gone by now, and this bastard product of incest was about to get his father killed by killing the only Stark he had because he stupidly misunderstood his mother's terms of placation. And so he laughed.

Joffrey, red faced, screamed, giving the signal to have the rope cut, releasing Jon to his strangulation.

Jon dropped, not enough to break his neck, but enough to make the rope extremely, painfully tight, squeezing the life from him.


	15. Chapter 15: War Breeds Peace

**Sup homies, y'all like that cliffhanger? I did. What's gon happen? More badassery? Eh prolly. Oh, and to Guest, no, Jon won't be fuckin' Gatehouse Amy. That's just awful.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 15: War Breeds Peace**

The noose was so tight, it had Jon's neck in a vice grip, and Jon thought that since he going to die, he might as well do it happily. He opened his mouth to laugh, unable to let the sound out as he strangled, so he opted to just silently laugh, his mouth open, smiling, emitting no noise. Then, out of the corner of Jon's eye, he saw something. On the roof of the building to the right of Jon, on the roof, was a man in a hood with bow. Jon would recognize that bow anywhere. _Lacht_ _í_ _n Fucking Sealgaire._

Then, the arrow shot through the rope, striking the post behind it from the angle he was at. As Jon went down through the open hole in the platform, Lachtín notched another arrow to his bow, Storm, letting loose another bolt of steel and wood lightning, this time, at Joffrey. Luckily for the incest born bastard, Ser Preston Greenfield took his vows seriously and stepped in the way of the arrow, the armor piercing bolt sprouting from his neck rather than Joffrey's heart, as was intended. Lachtín scowled, unhappy his shot was intercepted, but several men had swarmed to protect the boy and a shot was impossible now. The infamous archer and hunter replaced the third arrow he had in to it's quiver on his back, getting up and running across the rooftops from one to another, sword at his waist bouncing.

Under the scaffold, Jon quickly shook his vision back in to his head and ran out towards the white armor he saw, picking up speed.

Sandor had seen the archer cunt jumping roofs and knew he could do nothing, forgetting momentarily about Jon. That was, until said Northerner tackled the couple inch taller man to the ground. He shoved Jon off, but not before Jon had ripped Northwind out of it's sheath. When Sandor got to his feet, Jon ducked under his groping left hand, kneeing the Hound in his right ribs with Jon's left knee, then slashing his knife upward and across the Kingsguard's face, eliciting a yell. Jon finished up with a jumping roundhouse kick, his right shin making contact with the temple and laying the burnt man out. He was not unconscious, but he was close to it, and Jon had no time to waste.

He ran down the steps, leaping really, making it down to the line of City Watchmen and bowling through two of the three who tried to grab him, slashing the throat of the third. He sprinted through the crowd quicker than they can part, allowing him to mingle and get lost in the crowd as he turned a corner going in the same direction as Lachtín, towards the Red Keep.

After Jon made several turns, he walked by a small market, grabbing a cloak with his hand and disappearing in to the city traffic as he did. He slipped it over himself, though his arms were still shackled and he had no chance of breaking them yet. His hands hid under the cloak, splattered with a little blood, manacled and carrying a blade with a bloody edge. He began jogging towards the Red Keep at a slow pace, so as to seem in a hurry but not one so great it was suspicious. He took back alleyways and slid through small openings in between structures, working his way towards his destination.

Soon enough, he was below the wall which he had thrown Sansa and Ice from to his only friend left living in King's Landing, on top of the building behind him. He turned and looked up, seeing his blonde friend at the top, motioning for him to come up. Jon walked in, it was a brothel. He smiled and said hello, walked right past all the girls and upstairs, going all the way to the top through a hatch leading from a room to the roof. When he opened the hatch, Lachtín gripped his hand, pulling him up. Together, they walked, wordlessly, over to the edge closest to the wall. There were two ropes leading from something past the walls holding them, all the way to where they sat at the edge of the roof. Thinking on all the stupid things they had done anywhere, slamming themselves in to a wall to get away from a city that wanted them dead was fairly low on the list, so Jon shrugged and grabbed the rope. Placing Northwind in between his teeth, he wrapped his hands and shackles in the ropes in a simplistic way to keep him from losing his grip. Then they both swung across.

Now, the gap wasn't too big, and the two young men braced themselves with their feet in a crouch ready position, but the jolt that hit Jon when he softly collided with the wall shook him, possibly from having had to sit in a cell for two weeks with no exercise. Once he regained his bearings, he started to climb, feet kicking the crevices in the wall and hands gripping a little higher up on the rope every time. Lachtín was at the top of the wall first, pulling his rope up before helping pull Jon up. By the time Jon was up, he was thoroughly exhausted, sweating slightly, some of his back scars opening up.

The archer pulled the rope from Jon's shackles, grabbing both ropes and tossing them across to the roof on the other side of the building, grabbing Jon's forearm to help him up.

"Up you go, brother, come one," And they ran around the corner, checking all the directions they could for anybody until they had finally made their way back to the room Jon and two dead men had found Tyrion in. When they entered, a tall, 6'6" man with a hook nose and bushy eyebrows in the white cloak of the Kingsguard turned to look at them, surprised and reaching for his sword. The young Stark rushed him, putting his shoulder down in to the man's solar plexus and ramming him in to the wall hard enough to shake the room. As soon as they had hit the wall, Jon postured up and delivered a forceful slash to the man's throat with Northwind, cutting down past the jugular, almost halfway through the neck. As the man sank to the floor, sliding against the wall and staring at Jon in shock, the Skagosi king unfastened the man's white cloak and ripped it off him, crumpling it up in his hands and following Lachtín to the fireplace where they climbed in to the underground network below the city, sliding the stone back in to place as they did so. In the tunnels, Lachtín lit a torch and led the way, down several turns and through a few rooms, soon coming to the room by the grate.

When they stepped out in to the sun, Jon was almost blinded, before looking down and noticing Cadeyrn and Lachtín's horse waiting for them with Daimhín on his horse. Once there, Jon held out his shackles, and Daimhín dismounted quickly, swinging his war axe through the shackles weakest link. The Lord Reaper thanked him, jumping on his trusted mount, all three men taking off in the direction of the Kingswood forest.

- **Linebreak** -

When they finally reached the cave where the other three men waited with Sansa, Jon jumped down and hugged his crying sister. When they broke apart, Jon whispered some words of encouragement to her before rummaging through his pack and bringing out his cloak. He let the one he'd been hugging to him drop from his shoulders, and Sansa gasped at the scars on his back, crying again. He hugged her, shushing her and making her look at him.

"I'm glad I did this, and I wouldn't change a thing, okay? Now, get on a horse, I'd like to get back North ways," He assured her. She smiled and sniffled, pulling her hood up and over her head as Jon put on his cloak and did likewise. The group all did as Jon said, as Jon put on his armor, save for his bracers, over his cloak, then put on the other cloak over it, closing the second cloak up. He left his helm in his pack and set off at a brisk pace, two survivors of a death trap, four men, and one rescued girl.

- **Linebreak** -

When Jon arrived at Riverrun, the _Seawolf_ sat in the river right outside the walls, and when Jon looked at the wall itself, he saw four enormous banners hanging from it. The Stark of Winterfell banner, the Stark of Skagos banner, the Tully banner, and oddly enough, the Martell banner. Jon figured Robb just hadn't known that the Martell pact was a secret, as he moved forward to the gates on his horse with his six companions.

"Open the gates!" Jon called up, being met with silence. "I said, open the bloody fuckin' gates you cunts!"

"By who's command?" Some cunty voice from the battlements called out.

"Jon Stark, King of Skagos you bird brain paltry parasite!" Jon had just wanted to enter his Grandfather's home, but this man seemed to want to die to make it difficult for Jon.

"Aye, that's him alright, open the gates!" A figure in black moved along the battlements, heading toward the stairs to most likely meet the party at the gates. When Jon got in to the ancient home of the Tullys, he was met by the figure in black, his great uncle, the grizzled old Brynden "Blackfish" Tully. Jon dropped from his horse and laughed, greeting his great uncle and embracing him.

"How goes things, Uncle Brynden?" Jon asked, smiling and ripping off the brown cloak that covered is armor.

"Well, been a lot of worry about you, but besides that, you'll have to come inside to hear it all. Your brother and I made it back not a day ago. He's inside with all the lords, I mean ALL of the lords. Yours too," Before Jon could ask any more questions, Brynden led the group whose horses were being led away by some smallfolk. As they made their way to the great hall of Riverrun, Jon noticed some boys over in the corner of the courtyard playing, and when they saw him, they stopped and stared in awe. Jon was flattered.

Brynden and Jon each pushed open a door, leading Sansa in to the hall of her mother's family for the first time ever. All the lords there looked up at once, stunning Sansa but not Jon, Brynden or the Skagosi men following them who danced with death as often as most men drew breath.

"Sansa? Jon?" Their mother stood, stunned. She rushed from the front of the room to her second and third children, hugging them both to her, silently crying and laughing at the same time. When she let them go, Jon embraced his lords and their sons, most looking none the worse for wear, Smalljon with a scratch across his chin, Lord Stane markless, Lord Crowl with a bandage around his arm, Loch with piece of his ear cut off, and Ultán with a bandage wrapped around his eye in such a way that it covered his eye. He worked his way through the crowd and up to the front, where he embraced a smiling Jon. Sansa joined them, hugging Robb while Jon hugged their Uncle Edmure.

"A quick welcome back to my sister, who's been gone so long, and my brother, who almost dies every time he leaves sight!" Robb declared, and the entire room burst with laughter and cheers. Right when the crowd got a bit quieter, the Skagosi picked up their chant of "King" in the Old Tongue.

"Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí!" The Skagosi chanted and Jon placed his fist over his heart, bowing his head in thanks and respect. When the cheering died down, Jon sat on the table with his feet on the bench as usual and zoned out as Robb congratulated Edmure over some victory over the Mountain at a stone mill. By the time he came to, most of everybody was leaving, some of the lords welcoming Jon back again. By the time all who were leaving had left, Ghost had raced in to the room having gone North with Jon's mother, and the only people in the room were Jon, Robb, Sansa, Edmure, Catelyn, and Brynden.

"If it is of some importance, nephew, at the mill..." Edmure started off before being interrupted by the Blackfish.

"Will you shut your fuckin' mouth about the stone mill? Your king doesn't want to hear about it!"

"I think King Robb understands that other men can win battles, there's more than enough glory..."

"It's not about fuckin' glory!" Edmure went silent. "Jon, how many men did you lose in the West?"

"Didn't count," Was Jon's deadpan reply.

"Aye, and I didn't want to count my dead either. Do you know why those men died in the West, Uncle?"

"Fighting the Lannisters," Was Edmure's unsure reply.

"We wanted to draw Tywin and his mad dog Clegane in to the West. We wanted them to chase us, so we'd trap and kill them there, give our Dornish cousins their justice and rid the Old Lion of his most valuable tool" Robb grounded out.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Edmure said.

"You would have been told at this meeting if you hadn't fucked it all up." Edmure was silent and Jon felt a little sorry for his Uncle Edmure. He had fucked up, but he wasn't the brightest man ever and lusted for glory like any young man.

"Now, we'll have to march all the way to King's Landing to catch the two of them," Robb sighed.

"So, fill me in. Besides the mill, what else has happened since I've escaped?" Jon asked.

"Most of Renly's forces from the Stormlands moved to Stannis, the Reach stayed out for a while. Then, Stannis fell on King's Landing and almost broke through in to the city, but Tywin and the Reachmen fell on Stannis. He escaped, gone back to Dragonstone with only a few thousand again," Brynden informed him.

"I married," Robb started, "But it wasn't to a Frey. I took her maidenhood, I couldn't dishonor her like that. So, the Freys have left us. The Dornish ebbed a bit in to the Reach, swallowing the border and putting down the forces they've come across to punish the Reach for joining the Lannisters. They've openly declared for independence, along with the Riverlands. After Grandfather dies, Edmure will be the first Tully King. And, well, the North is in chaos. Theon and his sister swallowed their pride and knelt to their uncle, Euron. They attacked and burnt Winterfell for vengeance against the Starks. Bran and Rickon escaped with Luwin and some others to Skagos, and the Greyjoy forces are diminished, expecting a force of 100 men at most, instead finding 500 Northmen. Rodrik is still there and alive with some others, but much of Winterfell is damaged, and the Greyjoys have escaped. Our brothers will be staying in Skagos for the time being, with your leave. And, Roose Bolton's bastard, this Ramsay Snow, has attacked and attempted to kill Lady Hornwood. He failed thanks to her warriors, but he escaped and is raising hell."

Jon had gotten a headache listening to his brothers mistakes, but nodded along nonetheless.

"Fuckin' politics," Jon muttered. "Aye, of course they have my leave. Do we know where the Greyjoys are?"

"No, it appears they sailed around Dorne and we've lost them," Jon's mother replied.

"Alright, what about the Vale? Has it decided to join us yet?" When Robb shook his head no, Jon groaned. "Fine, then I'll be settling that score, as well as the bastard Ramsay. Also, another matter. I'm going to give my friend Lachtín, the archer who saved me, a keep and lordship on the Northern side of the mountain range on the East side of the main island in Skagos. House Sealgaire, meaning 'Hunter' in the Old Tongue. He was the one who got out Sansa out of the city, and who shot the arrow that snapped the rope that hanged me. I've seen the looks he and Sansa give each other, and would formally propose a marriage between the two."

Sansa was red as a tomato, everybody else in the room smirking at her. Robb nodded his agreement, describing it as a good match. Jon got up and thanked him, hugging his brother, mother, sister and uncles before leaving, the four continuing to talk.

- **Linebreak** \- ( **It's a mix of the shows and the books, this place)**

The men inside Stone, the first waycastle on the way up to the Eyrie, were at rest, easy, until they heard a pounding and a rumbling. Grabbing their spears, swords, axes and bows, they run to the walls to check from what the sound was originating. As they reached the walls, men in metal and fur, shouting war cries in the Old Tongue, jumped over the walls. There was only 100 of them, a little less than the men of Stone, but they were led by a fierce young man of 6'4" in all black and gray, a direwolf helm on his head and a weirwood spear in his hands along with a spiked shield. The young man, Jon, fought his way through the few men in between him and the gates, his men on the other wall doing the same. When they got to the gates, they opened them, allowing 500 warriors of the Mountain Clans of the Vale to rush in, splitting apart men of the Vale and taking their weapons. Jon led the group forward, putting the ancient fortress to the sword. A man in fur charged Jon, and he smashed his shield and it's spikes in to the man's chest, penetrating the body and puncturing several vital organs. He pulled out the shield and turned, thrusting his spear, Icicle, in to the next man's body. They worked their way through the surprised Valemen, and soon enough, the force at Stone was no more, with minimal casualties to Jon and the tribes.

They rushed headlong up the path to Snow, ever steeper than the one to Stone. They met minimal resistance on the way up, but found heavy hostile presence at Snow itself. Instead of attempting to do battle, Jon shouted at his men.

"Come on, let's go, give them the rest of it," He yelled, and the Valemen were confused. All of a sudden, several dozen men pulled forward to small catapults. They were strong enough to get to the keep. The men started to pack jars of green liquid in to each, aiming the catapults and letting loose when Jon waved his hand. One shot it's load in to the keep, in the left side. The other hit the wall on the right side. Then, they did it again, one hitting the right inside, the other hitting the left wall. Just as a man who understood what Wildfire was stepped out of the room he had been sleeping in, the catapults shot flaming bails of hay at the keep.

The keep Snow lit up the evening sky, giving a green tint to their visible breath. They drew nearer, but not too near, so as not to catch flames. The screams filled the air as some caught on to men who had not died in the initial explosion. The wood burned away, and the men did as well.

At Sky, the crescent-shaped wall of mortar and stone with boulders and rocks to let loose on invaders, a man came down behind a large contingent of 300 warriors who had told him to follow them down but stay at Sky, under order to prepare to release the avalanche of death on their foes. When he arrived, however, he noticed two sets of climbing rope and gear still attached to the mountains edge. No sooner had he looked up then an arrow lodged itself in his throat, and as the blood gurgled in his throat, Arik kicked him off the side of the mountain, nodding appreciation at his twin, Kira. That was just a start, now, they would hold Sky.

Jon and his 550 remaining men charged up the steep, slippery, weary steps to Sky, being careful to not fall, but being quick, in order to relieve Arik and Kira. All of a sudden, arrows started to fall from above, some small rocks as well, and Jon raised his shield over his head, calling for his men to do the same, however, the Skagosi all had good shields while a lot of the Mountain tribesmen did not, many of them falling to arrow or rock, or simply falling. When that barrage stopped, and only the occasional arrow or rock came down, Jon brought his shield back down though still keeping it high just in case. He rushed forward with a force of perhaps 350 men, his 100 Skagosi and 250 tribesmen, and soon met the force of 300 Valemen, including some knights, crushing down on them.

Jon met the first attacker, a man in mismatched knight armor, some light, some heavy. The knight stabbed at Jon who slid in sideways and threw and uppercut with his shield in to the man's jaw, breaking it and putting him in a paralysis like trance. Jon turned again and swung the shaft of Icicle in to the man's head, cracking him and sending him over the edge of the mountain. He ducked under a spear and watched a two tribes men rush forward past him, one being immediately pushed off by the spearman. The other cut the spearman down with his axe, but was then cut down by a knight's sword. Jon rushed forward again with a renewed vigor, putting his spear through the knight's unprotected mouth. He dodged the spear thrown by the man several feet back which embedded itself in the tribesman behind him. He turned and fought on, much of the fight being much the same, Jon covering himself in glory and tribesmen being cut down every now and again. Eventually, when Jon ducked behind the thrust of another spear, twenty or so tribesmen rushed forward, cutting down some but mostly being cut down by the men of the Vale. When Jon looked back, he saw maybe a dozen tribesmen, his men all being further down to prevent breaking the steps. When he turned again, he saw the last of those twenty tribesmen fall off the edge, only half a dozen knights left in front of Jon. He charged in, immediately dodging a sword thrust and smacking the knight in the helm backhandedly with his shield, knocking him off the Giant's Lance. He called back to the tribesmen.

"Get the rest of them up here! We need to finish this!" Before resuming the battle with the second knight as the other four retreated back up the steps towards Sky. Jon thrust his spear, meeting nothing but air as the knight dodged, hacking at the shield with his axe. Jon slipped the shield back, bringing it back down on the axe, causing it to fall out of the knight's grip. He threw a punch at Jon which Jon stepped back to avoid, lunging froward and spearing the man through his throat before he could grab his axe. He felt the other over 100 men come up behind him and took off again, up towards Sky.

When they got to the crescent wall, one knight was on the steps with an arrow in his visor slit. Another was on the ground with an arrow in his unprotected armpit and a red line across his bare neck. One was missing, probably over the edge, but the final one was doing battle with Arik when Jon arrived.

Arik swung his sword downward, meeting the return blow with his shield and stepping under and moving, hoping to get a better angle, but the knight with the mace and shield slammed his shield in to Arik's shoulder, slamming him in to the wall. Just as he went to smash Arik's head with his mace, he was kicked off the mountain by Jon's boot in his back. When Arik looked up and saw the direwolf helm and offered hand, he grinned, taking it and coming to his feet.

"Well it's about damn time Your Highliness, we've got a castle to take," The ever joking young man teased at Jon. They moved up, Kira falling in with them, 113 men behind them.

When they reached the top of the steps, they looked straight and found the remaining 200 knights of the Eyrie waiting for them along the path that led to the bridge leading to the Eyrie.. Jon grinned, throwing his spear up and in to the crowd of men, somewhere closer to the higher ground right next to the stretch of land, to ensure that the spear would not fall off the mountain with any man. It connected with some knight in the far back rows, as far as Jon could see. He slung his shield on to his back and unsheathed Longclaw and Dawn. He rushed in to battle, the first few knights shields' braced. Right before they made contact, fifty men with bows and grappling equipment sprung over on to the higher ground next to the 200 knights. Lachtín had scaled the mountains with his fifty archers. Kira joined them and they fired in to the ranks of the knights, creating chaos and making it all the easier for Jon, Arik, and Daimhín to charge in to battle and cut through the lines.

- **Linebreak** -

The doors to the High Hall, which contained the Moon Doors, were forced open as the corpse of a dead knight hit them, sprawling across the floor, headless, his head hitting the ground soon after, only several feet farther. Jon stalked in to the room, on the prowl, searching. Near the throne of the Eyrie in the High Hall sat his Aunt Lysa and her son Robert in her lap. Next to them, in the throne, was Petyr Baelish, cold and calculating. He stood and opened his arms, greeting Jon.

"My, my, King Jon, how good to see you! It's been a while, I'm afraid. And here, I thought you had not got my invitation," Baelish smiled, a sickly thing. Jon crept around the side of the long table that his aunt and cousin were on, Lysa warning him.

"Don't you hurt him!" She warned. Jon advanced forward all the same, staring down Littlefinger. Petyr moved around the opposite side of the table, away from Jon, still smiling, that was, until he bumped in to the large, hairy, two axe wielding man that was Shagga.

"Shagga kills this one now?" Shagga asked, glaring at the much smaller man.

"No, Shagga, but you can stay right there," Jon replied, already around the table and walking towards Littlefinger, sliding his blades in to their scabbards. Chella, Daughter of Cheyk, along with another, Timett, leaders of the Black Ears and the Burned Men, respectively, moved in to stand behind Petyr as Jon stopped in front of him.

"Do you know what I always liked about men who are good at talking, Lord Baelish?" Jon asks.

"That they tell you things you don't know?" Petyr tried.

"No, but good try. It's that when the situation gets thick, they realize, sooner or later, that none of their words will save them," Jon replied, grinning. Jon reached his hand up, playing with the mockingbird pin on Littlefinger's lapel.

"Would you like to know something, Lord Baelish?" Jon queried.

"What would that be, King Jon?" Petyr asked, leaning in. Jon pulled the pin out, inspecting it.

"Skagosi never forget, and they never forgive," Jon responded, looking in to Baelish's eyes. Petyr looks suspicious, then hears the Moon Doors open behind him, and before he can move, Jon's hands are hitting his chest, shoving him back and pushing him out the doors, hurtling towards the ground, past the winds.

"You killed him!" Lysa screamed, running at Jon and throwing punches, attempting to push him out the Doors. Chella and Timett close the doors and Jon grabs Lysa, handing her to Shagga.

"Shagga, take her outside, close the doors, and hold her for now," Jon orders, walking past his struggling aunt towards the sickly boy sitting in the Throne of Arryn, looking at Jon in awe.

"You made Uncle Petyr fly!" He gushes, his blue eyes staring up through his black hair at Jon before Jon crouches in front of him.

"Aye, I did," Jon starts, "Would you happen to know a Robert around here?"

"I'm Robert! I'm Robert Arryn, Lord of the Vale!"

"You are? How old are you?" Jon plays with the kid.

"I'm nine years old!" He states, holding up his fingers and showing his teeth in a grin.

"Aye, that you are. Listen, do you know who I am?" Jon asks, and the boy shakes his head. Jon produces his helm from his waist, handing it to the boy. "Would this help you figure it out?"

"You're the Thirsty Wolf, Jon Stark!" Robert exclaims, smiling at him, giddy.

"Yes that's me. I'm also your cousin. Your mother's sister, your Aunt Catelyn, is my mother. Now, I've got a proposition for you, but you must think about it very hard, okay?" The boy nods and Jon continues.

"How would you like to be the Warrior King of the Vale?" Jon asks.

"What do you mean?" Robert returns.

"Well, would you like to be a great warrior, and the King of the Vale of Arryn?"

"Oh yes I would! I'm going to fight bandits and armies and rescue princesses!" Robert claims.

"Yes you are. There's only a few things you have to do, first, we need to write a letter to old Tywin Lannister in the King's Landing, and summon your lords. Then, we'll talk to your lords of the Vale, and finally, you'll come to me with Skagos to live with me until you come of age, after we've named your guardian to the Vale. Are you still okay with coming with me?" Jon questions. The tribesmen would have many lands back, welcomed in to the graces of Vale, and they would be free to worship the Old Gods, after all, hopefully Robert would learn to as well at Kingshouse, but they would never accept orders from a sickly, spoilt boy.

"Of course I will!"

"Good, now let's go write those letters!"

- **Linebreak** -

"My Lords Belmore, Corbray, Egen, Grafton, Hersy, Hunter, Melcolm, Redfort, Royce, Templeton and Waynwood. Lord Robert and I thank you for coming, Robert can not stay too much longer, he is in dire need of sleep, it's late and he's had quite the day, but we welcome you nonetheless," Jon greeted the Lords of the Vale who all nodded at him, suspicious.

"I'm tired, Jon," Robert complained, rubbing at his eyes.

"Alright then, Robert, go to your bed, your mother is waiting there for you," Jon told him, and the boy rose up, scurrying off to sleep.

"Alright, so, firstly, I would like to apologize to you all, my lords, for doing this on such short notice," Jon started before being interrupted.

"No you're not," Bronze Yohn Royce stated, unapologetic. "You went up to the Eyrie with 600 men, and did what no other man has ever done, taking the Eyrie, not to mention facing a larger force, and still have almost 100 men. You don't care what we think, much less whether we're grumpy from coming on such short notice, so you can stop with the niceties."

"Alright, fine. I met your son, Robar, at Bitterbridge, Lord Royce. I fought him there as well when I was wrongly accused of Renly Baratheon's death. If the Valemen are as honorable and strong and ferocious as your son, we would be more than happy to welcome them in to our pact."

"What pact would this be?" Lyn Corbray questioned.

"The Sunspear Pact. At Sunspear, around three years ago, I made a pact with the Martells in Dorne. They support Skagosi independence, Skagos supports Dornish independence. We have a healthy relationship and open trade with each other. That pact was broadened to include the North when the Lords of the North declared my brother Robb, King in the North. It then applied to the Riverlands, who are now going to have a king under my Uncle Edmure Tully, after my grandfather Hoster passes away. All four kingdoms are connected to one another, not just physically, but through important marriages and families. My mother is Riverlander, my other mother, the one who gave birth to me, is Dornish. My wife is Dornish. There is Riverland blood in the North and in the Vale, and Northern or Skagosi blood in Dorne, as well as vice versa. We are all well connected, and I would bring the Vale of Arryn in to our brotherhood of kingdoms."

"You would drive us in to war?" Anya Waynwood asked.

"If I remember correctly, many of the Valemen sought to join the conflict and attack the Lannisters. Not to mention, what war do you have to fear from these other lords not in our pact? The Stormland armies were crushed under Stannis at the Battle of Blackwater Bay, they offer no threat, and if any of Robert's bastard sons ask to be legitimized, I would do so and make him King of the Stormlands, allowing them to join our pact. Besides that, there's the Reach, which can produce over 50,000, the Westerlands which can produce 50,000 and the Crownlands which can produce 10,000. The Vale, the North, the Riverlands and Dorne can all produce from 40,000 to to 50,000 so long as reproduction rates are good, which they are, but let's say it's 45,000 for argument's sake. Skagos can produce 25,000. That's 205,000 men. We may be able to add the Stormlands, which is 35,000 to that. The Reach, Westerlands and Crownlands together total 110,000 give or take a couple thousand. We over double their forces, not to mention significant peoples."

"What do you mean?" Royce asked.

"Battles are won by soldiers, wars are won by extraordinary men. We have more of those than the Reach and the Westerlands. We have Bronze Yohn Royce, Roose Bolton, Robb Stark, Jon Stark, Brynden Tully and Doran Martell, all able thinkers, Oberyn Martell the commander for my good father. What do they have that we don't?"

"Lot of food," Corbray muttered.

"We've always had enough to survive, and that is where our strength comes from. Those places farther south can afford to be lazy and soft. Us up here never could. We are a harder breed than they. Just, all of you with children out there, call them back, tell them that their home is free once more," Jon said, and most seemed deep in thought, mulling over the opportunity.

"Are you slaves of the South, or Knights of the Vale damn it!" Jon lost patience and slammed his hands on the table, shaking it.

"He's right," Lord Bronze Yohn Royce spoke, standing. "Why are we under the boot of any lickspittle in the South? We are better than this!"

"Aye," The Lords of the Vale echoed.

"You have your answer, King Jon. What do you have planned?" Royce asked.

"I'm sure Lysa loves Robert, but we must not let her have him completely. He will go with me to Skagos, hard a place as any, I will train him and he will learn under my maesters. He will grow leather skin and a steel heart, feel the ice form in his veins. I will make a man of him. In the time that he's gone, up until he comes of age, you will be Lord Protector of the Vale, Lord Royce, as the man with the most experience here. Lysa will go to Winterfell or Riverrun, and she will be allowed to visit Robert every now and again. The Alliance would ask that you bring your troops South, to help us finish off the remaining Lions and Roses. Once there, all the Kings of the Alliance will meet, and further our thoughts on the realms of men."

"What about Stannis?" Lord Egen asked.

"I shall refuse to meet or treat with any man who had his brother killed. Thank you, my lords. There is much to be done. I'm afraid that in the morning, Robert and I will be forced to leave. My ships wait at Baelish Keep, there is work to be done in the North and Skagos," Jon explained, exhausted out of expression. The lords all stood, bidding each other and Jon farewell. Jon leaned back in his chair, slouching and rubbing his eyes. He heard Ghost's feet patter against the floor as made his over to Jon, curling up at his feet. Jon tired, eyelids growing heavier. He nodded off, passing out.

- **Linebreak** -

Tyrion walked in to the Tower of the Hand for the Small Council meeting, once again unprepared for the surprise to come. When he entered, it was much the same as before, save for it was the day before Joffrey's wedding and Cersei didn't know whether to smirk or puke. And Tyrion's scar made him even uglier than before, but who's mentioning that old thing? Varys looked sly as always, Pycelle without only wisps of his beard seemed pathetic, and then Tyrion with his scar was disfigured. Tywin Lannister was nearly fuming.

"What is it that has you so worked up, Father?" Cersei asked, lounging in her chair.

"We received a raven from the Eyrie earlier today. They have joined the Pact of Sunspear, or the Alliance as it's called here," at the looks of confusion, Tywin continued, "When Jon Stark went South and West to eliminate the Iron Islands three years ago, he made a pact with the Martells at Sunspear. They would support Skagosi freedom, Jon would support Dornish freedom. The North joined, then the Riverlands, now the Vale, after Jon Stark took the Eyrie by force. A collection of kingdoms seeking to break Westeros back in to multiple kingdoms, though rather friendly kingdoms. It appears that it is time we sue for peace on their terms," The Old Lion finished.

"Father you cannot seriously mean..." Cersei began.

"I can and I do!" He nearly shouted. "The Young Wolf has been beating us, slowly but surely, and the Thirsty Wolf has been terrorizing us. Dorne closes in from the South, and the Direwolves and Trout and Falcons close in from the North. Stannis may come back at any time to assert his claim, though he'll die when they get to him all the same. All we have is what's left of our forces, and the Tyrells. My duty is to preserve the family name and if we do not seek peace now, the Thirsty Wolf will be on our doorstep any day now, you'll die, Tyrion'll die, Varys'll die, everybody in this city old enough to be an adult will die, and the rest, including your children, save Joffrey, will be Wolf Orphans, wandering Westeros until they die or somebody takes them in. There is no choice anymore."

Cersei looked outraged and stood from her chair, storming off in anger. Tyrion didn't know how to react. Tywin set to work on writing a letter to send North, while Tyrion stood from his chair, looking at his father in a different light, and leaving.

- **Linebreak** -

 **Seven Months Later at the Inn of the Kneeling Man**

Around a large, wooden, round table sat outside on the sunny day that would be the day of peace, sat several men.

King Edmure Tully, King of the Trident and the Riverlands, Lord of Riverrun, The Smiling Fish, First of his name. His father had died a few months earlier, but he had moved past that. The twenty-seven year old's rusty red hair curled and his blue eyes twinkled as he sat with his leaping trout and rushing stream crown on his head. His helm before him was the same blue steel as his armor, with a closed short visor and a leaping trout crest on top. His sword, a Valyrian Steel longsword named Draughtbane with a trident pommel rested against his chair in between his knees. Next to him was his nephew.

King Robb Stark, King of the North and the Neck, Lord of Winterfell, The Young Wolf, First of his name. The eighteen year old's darker, rusty red hair curled even more than Edmure's, his blue eyes a darker, more piercing color. His crown was the crown of the North, longswords and a wolf. His helm, like his armor, was gray and simple, steel with a wolf's head on top as the crest, staring forward. In between his knees was Ice, the ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword of House Stark. Next to Robb was Jon.

King Jon Stark, King of Skagos and Skane, Lord of Kingshouse, The Thirsty Wolf, First of his name. The eighteen year old's dark black curly hair was shaved close on the sides and most of the back and top, save for the thick stripe running right down the latter two, it's strands twisted in to rows of three thick rope like pieces. His gray eyes were hard and wild, cold and warm at the same time, and the stubble along his jaw helped to give him the air of reckless. His crown was an iron circlet, thick and inscribed with the legends of Liam, and the middle of the front held a tooth from the great dragon Aodhfin. Inlaid in the tooth was a deep, blood red ruby. His helm in front of him was the steel head of a direwolf, black and gray as his armor, but with permanent red around the maw of the helm, for blood. The legendary duo of Valyrian steel swords, Longclaw and Dawn, were on either side of his knees, pointing towards the ground as all swords were with his hands on the direwolf head and falling star pommels. Next to Jon was Robert.

King Robert Arryn, King of the Mountains and Vale, Lord of the Eyrie, The Young Falcon, First of his name. The ten year old's dark brown and black hair was tousled, his face scowling as Jon tousled it, laughing. His bright, piercing and sharp blue eyes peeked out from his eyelids. The crown on his brow was that of blue steel and sapphires, falcons swooping in and out of the sky and clouds. In front of him was a helm in the shape of a falcon's head, after the fashion Jon's helm was, though the helm being blue, like the small armor fitted to his frame. He had no sword, but on the table in front of him, Jon had allowed him to hold Northwind, Jon's large Valyrian steel knife. Next to Robert was Gendry.

King Gendry Baratheon, King of the Stormlands and the Crownlands, Lord of Storm's End, The Young Stag, First of his name. The eighteen year old, bastard born son of King Robert Baratheon had escaped from the Red Woman some months earlier and was found by Jon sailing the Narrow Sea in a rowboat. His dark black hair was inky, as Jon's was, his beard growing fierce and black. The crown he bore was a dark, onyx circlet, in the shape of storms and howling winds blowing by a great stag. In front of him was an antlered helm, closed in the face, of the same dark black steel that his armor was, made by the Storm King himself. In between his knees was a dark black iron warhammer named Fury, the hammer his father used before him. Next to him was Doran.

King Doran Martell, King of Dorne and It's Marches, Lord of Sunspear, The Old Viper, First of his name. His gout had passed, thankfully, and the fifty-five year old's black and silver hair shone in the light. His brown eyes were light, quick and intelligent. His crown was a sand colored gold, grainy looking, with mountains on the sides and a shining sun with a spear through it. He had no weapon, no helm or armor, merely a book and a wooden staff used for walking. Next to him was Willas.

King Willas Tyrell, King of the Reach, Lord of Highgarden, the Kind Rose, First of his name. The twenty-six year old's brown hair was light and thick, his brown eyes much the same, kinder than any other man's at the table. His crown was one of golden roses, vines and thorns. He was much the same as Doran, without weapons or armor, but with a cane to walk and a book to read. Next to Willas was Tywin.

King Tywin Lannister, King of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, the Old Lion, First of his name. The sixty year-old man had no hair left on his head, though he kept a trimmed blonde and white beard along his jaw. His green eyes were cold and burning. His crown was gold of tall grasses, prairies and mountains, and a lion and it's mane at the front with rubies for eyes. In front of him was a lion helm, the same black and red steel as his armor, a regular helm with a lion visor. In between his knees was Red Rain, a Valyrian steel longsword given to the Old Lion by Jon Stark, meant to serve as some small consolation for the Skagosi king blowing up Casterly Rock some time earlier. Next to Tywin was Edmure, starting the cycle again.

Behind each king sat their families, behind them there was their lords, then their top warriors, then any smallfolk who would choose to come and see what they could, stands being erected so the area was like a bowl. When asked where it should have been, Jon stated at the inn where Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon the Conqueror 300 years ago. Even if Dorne was still free then, that is truly when the Targaryen dynasty fell in to place. It was only fitting to undo it where it was done.

All was silent in the area, the eight most powerful men in the Western world staring at each other, suddenly all growing extremely serious. The Kings' horses were near, other horses further away, and the ships _Seawolf, Storm,_ and _Sandglider_ , belonging to King Jon, King Gendry, and King Doran all docked in the Red Fork that the inn was by. Willas and Doran turned to each other, whispering, searching for something in their packs, until eventually, Doran found it, standing up with it and leaning over to hand it to his good-son, King Jon, who had surprisingly written the most important and poetically summarizing piece of it, the last paragraph. He stood and read it aloud.

"And we eight kings of the lands known collectively as Westeros, who command armies and shake grounds, do solemnly swear, as we are equal in heart and power, that neither injustice nor forced domination nor even wrongfully constructed judgments shall continue to reign, and freedom shall ensue, so long as we live, in body, or in soul."

When Jon finished he grabbed the quill from the middle of the table, dipping it in the ink and writing his signature on the bottom of the paper. He passed it around, every man signing it, all the way to Robb, who signed it and then handed it back to Jon who rolled it up securely.

In truth, seven more copies had been made earlier, signed by every man, so that every kingdom would have it's own proof of the agreement. The men all stood, nodding their heads at each other, and shook hands, separating and going their separate ways. Robert returned the knife to Jon who slung his sword across his back and strapped the knife to his waist, laughing and tousling Robert's hair before embracing Robb and the rest of his family he had not seen since he had brought justice to Ramsay Snow some six months earlier.

When he's finished, he converses with the Lannister men, Tywin and Jaime, Tyrion having fled to Essos seven months earlier when he was accused of killing his nephew Joffrey at his own wedding. Prince Tommen was sent to Highgarden to marry Princess Margaery Tyrell, and Princess Myrcella was sent to Dorne to be with Prince Trystane Martell. Jaime was good, already used doing things with one hand. Tywin recommended that Jon come by to theorize and play Cyvasse with his ward Prince Bran Stark who was set to marry Princess Joy Lannister, formerly Hill, to teach the younger Stark a thing or two about strategy and tactics. He thanked the two and moved on.

He joked with Gendry and conversed with Doran, he questioned Willas on horses and spoke with Lord Royce on the state of the Vale. When he was done, he gathered his wards and proteges, Robert and Rickon, dragging them to their horses so they could get back on the infamous raider longship of the King of Skagos, and head back to Kingshouse. On their way, they met up with Queen Arianne Martell and Queen Mother Ashara Dayne. Ashara held little three year old Jon's hand with hers, Arianne carrying the one and a half year old twins Darragh and Skulgarth. He kissed his mother on the cheek and his wife on the lips, calling out to Arya, who had shown up randomly in Harrenhal when the war ended, that if she wished to train with Kira, she would have to follow them immediately. The Stark family of Skagos, along with two Starks of Winterfell and an Arryn of the Vale boarded the ship _Seawolf_ with it's bloody deck and bloody sails and smiled. They were going home.

- **Linebreak** -

The war galley _Fury_ was beached on Omyw Beach, in front of Duskwallow, an army of adults who had hid and children who had fled had eventually poured out of the ruins of the once beautiful city once they had realized that the man on their shore with his couple thousand men was not the Skagosi raiders.

The false idols of Lorath sat in the sand, smoldering in the night sky, as the screams of the last surviving relative of the royal family burned to a crisp, King Stannis Baratheon watching in stoic amazement, the Red Woman next to him smiling.

"There is power in king's blood, Your Grace. Always," She smiled, turning and shouting out her prayers with her newest and most fervent followers, the war orphans of Lorath.

Stannis peered over his shoulder, looking at Davos staring at the scene in disappointment and distaste. Stannis looked past him, in to the blackened ruins of the capital of this strange, far off land they had come across. This would do, until he came back to take what was his by _right_.

- **Linebreak** -

In a hot, miserable room in an enormous pyramid in a city known as Meereen in the far East, in Slaver's Bay, there was a girl. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, platinum blonde hair, shocking amethyst eyes, beautiful alabaster skin and plump lips with a full figure underneath a light dress. Daenerys Targaryen. To her right were Daario Naharis, the blue-bearded Tyroshi silver tongue killer, next to him was Ser Jorah Mormont, the now Old Bear, former Lord of Bear Island. On her left were a bald, plump man in robes, a simpering look on his face. Varys. Next to him was a short, stunted dwarf with one green eye, the other black, and dirty blonde hair all over his head and jaw, a scar crossing his face. Tyrion Lannister.

In front of the throne were three figures dressed in leathers and mail, axes at sides and flanked by Unsullied. One was a middle aged man, a dark beard and dark hair, with one blue eye and an eyepatch, lips blue from drinking shade of the evening. Euron Greyjoy.

Next were two younger people, a brother and sister, brown of hair and eyes, though darker, black almost, for the girl on both. They were lean and handsome youths, good looking and sharply featured, bearing the kraken of House Greyjoy on their outfits. Theon and Asha.

"So, what was this you said about some boy taking your home?" Daenerys asked, a smile on her lips and one perfect eyebrow raised.

"Jon Stark, he did that and much more, ask them, they'll tell you," Theon stated, gesturing to Tyrion and Varys. Daenerys turned to them, a questioning gaze.

"Yes, a quite… impressive youth," Varys said and Tyrion snorted. When Daenerys looked at him specifically, he explained.

"Impressive is a chain from Oldtown or the acquisition of a lordship. That particular youth is _beyond_ impressive. He killed every man and woman on the Iron Islands, and dumped the kids on the mainland before destroying their mines and salting their fields, burning their homes and cities as well. When war broke out between the South and the North, the North was the least likely to win. Jon Stark, the Thirsty Wolf, burned Lannisport, killed the people, save the kids, and blew up Casterly Rock, quite literally destroying it. He did more or less the same in half the holds in the Westerlands. He defeated my brother Jaime in single combat, came in to King's Landing and saved his sister just because he was in the area and thought he should. I personally saw him take thirty lashes from a whip and not make a sound, still awake by the end. I watched him hang two weeks later, and he laughed as he did, though he escaped anyway. He's beat four men of the Kingsguard, killing three of them. He took the Eyrie, an impregnable castle in the sky in the Vale of Arryn, by force with 600 men, only 200 of which were decent warriors. Word is, that when the peace finally came, because Jon Stark had united five kingdoms against two, Jon Stark personally hunted down Gregor Clegane to hand the head to his good-father King Doran Martell or Dorne. Do you remember, there was word of the nation of Lorath falling to some savage raiders two or so years ago?" Tyrion asked, and Daenerys nodded, unsure as to the point of the question exactly.

"That was Jon Stark and a few thousand men, because they got bored at home. I used to think that my father was the most terrifying man on the planet. Then, Jon Stark went to work on Westeros, and I knew, I had never known true fear until I looked the Thirsty Wolf in it's maw and it talked to me."


	16. Chapter 16: Snows So Cold

**Sup guys, back at it again with the fuckery. How we doin? Good? Good. Heads up, I misspoke and accidentally named Smalljon's seat Duskwarden, it's supposed to be Dawnwarden because it's in the East. Dontcha just love when Guest leaves a bad review? And all the way on Chapter 3? You just waited your time sir. I thank you for the view.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 15: Snows So Cold**

 _ **Four Years Later**_

Jon Stark sat at the high table in the great hall with his wife Arianne, their four children Jon, Skulgarth, Darragh, and Ashara, as well as Robert Arryn, Rickon Stark, and the lords of the five other houses of Skagos and Skane. Greatjon Umber and his pregnant wife Nym, of Dawnwarden. Loch Crowl and Ultán Stane of their respective halls, whose fathers left them as the lords so that they could go and end their days aiding and reaping in Essos. Lachtín Sealgaire and his wife, Jon's sister Sansa, of Huntborne Keep, on the Northern side of Skagos. Last but not least was Lord Arik and Lady Kira of Whiteplain Fortress on Skane which was being repopulated. The twins did not marry, and shared no romantic feelings for one another, so whoever had a son first, that son would be the next Fionn lord.

There were no secrets amongst the Lords of Skagos, and they all laughed and joked equally, never holding their tongue. They spoke their mind, like Smalljon, who was almost a full Sagart now, and had spoke of Jon's accomplishments earlier, out loud. It had been an eye-opener for Jon. He knew that he would go down in Westerosi legend, but somehow it ceased to awe Jon as it would have when he was a child, perhaps because there were so many legends in Westeros, it being a large place, and being just another one of them stopped being special. However, Umber had pointed out that not only would Jon be almost on par with Aegon the Conqueror in Westeros 100 years from now, but 75 years from now, Skagos would speak of Jon as they speak of Liam the First, or Seamus Graysmile who was called Steele for his affinity with the metal. There was now a Trinity of Heroes in the Island of Blood, three men, warriors who every boy would look up to and pretend to be, aiming to be whenever they trained. Jon was one of those three, and it blew his mind. Jon smiled thinking of it, turning and grinning at Arianne who smirked at him up through her eyelashes. After Lyanna had been born, her libido had increased somehow, though Jon couldn't say the opposite of himself.

- **My Name is Line Break, You Killed My Father, Now Prepare to Die-**

 **Pretty Rough Lemon Warning**

Jon pushed Arianne through the door, slamming it behind him after he entered. She quickly ripped off her dress, knowing that the wolf blood was running quicker in Jon. He growled and she dropped to her knees, reaching for his laces and undoing his trousers. When she pulled down the trousers and smallclothes under them, Jon's raging ten inch member sprung out, slapping her in the face. Arianne quickly dropped her hands, licking up and down the tool, touching it with nothing other than her tongue and lips. When it was dripping wet, Arianne pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her bottom lip to the tip of Jon's cock before her husband grabbed her hair, gathering it in his hand. He pulled her head up a bit, exposing her face more as Jon pushed her back to the bed. He gripped his dick with his other hand, slapping her with it back and forth, her opening her mouth to attempt to catch it. After the fourth time of hitting her with it, Jon aimed his spear at her open mouth and thrust in, using her hair to pull her on to his member. He pulled out and thrust back in, as hard as he could, pull her head towards him with her hair as she moaned, playing with her button.

Squelching, gagging and growling filled the air as Jon primally thrust in to his wife's warm, wet, welcoming mouth as she stared up at him, her eyes wide, tearing up due to her gag reflex. Soon enough, he felt his first climax coming and started slamming in to her mouth faster and harder, gripping her head on either side and dropping her hair as he pummeled her face, his dick going down her throat over and over again, visible in her throat. He gripped her head to him, thrusting hard and holding it for a second, his baby batter shooting down her throat, before he pulled back, doing it again. Then he pulled out, allowing his rod to shoot it's juices over her inviting face as she stuck it out to catch it all, some of it running down her face or even shooting off of it, landing all over her large, shapely brown breasts as her ministrations on her clitoris did wonder, causing her to shoot her juices all over the ground. When Jon finished shooting, he stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Arianne licked the juices from her hand before using her hands to wipe up and lick the jizz covering her upper body. Jon's member grew hard again and she looked up at him with a sweet and innocent smile as Jon watched her eat his sperm.

"It tastes so good my king," She said, licking the final bit up off her right nipple without bothering to pick it up with her fingers, just holding her breast up and licking it off.

"Shut up and follow me on to the bed," He ordered, allowing his jerk and dominating side to completely take over, commanding his love. He slid up on to their large bed, over the furs, not under, laying with his head on his pillows, his rod attempting to stick up but being too big to stay perfectly straight. She crawled up on to the bed, crawling over until she was beside him and he looked at her, commanding her to hurry with one look. She quickly swung her leg over his waist, sliding her snatch down to slide it along the cock beneath her if Jon hadn't thrust up and in to her, stunning her in to silence. He gripped her waist with his large, calloused hands and picked her up, slamming her back down on to his member. They did this for a few minutes until Arianne moaned and came.

Jon grabbed Arianne by the throat, pulling her down so that her breasts smashed against his body and her hips were slightly raised, only the tip of his cock in her. He kissed her, biting her lip hard enough to almost draw blood, and pulled back, a string of spit between them as Jon squeezed his hand around her throat a bit tighter, thrusting up in to her. He pulled all the way out, making her reach down to point the meat rod back at her opening, Jon thrusting in again. He pulled out it all save for the tip, thrusting back in and doing it several times, picking up a good pace. She was in ecstasy, Arianne's eyes rolling in to the back of her head as her face turned red. He thrust in at a different angle, hoping to find her g spot, and finally hit it, triggering an immense, shuddering orgasm as her mouth opened in a silent o. He continued to hammer in to that same spot, his free hand slapping her face, bringing her back to reality as it traveled down to her ass, slapping it as hard as he could once, then on the other cheek, then back and forth, drawing cries from his queen before he grabbed a handful of the red ass, gripping it roughly as he pummeled her in to oblivion once more, her juices shooting out around the invading cock.

Jon rolled them over, moving her legs above his shoulders, sliding his arms underneath her and picking her up. He moved her over to the wall next to the bed, placing her back against it, suspended in the air by Jon's arms, knees to tits. Jon had left the head inside her snatch, sliding it back inside her, starting off with long deep strokes.

"You're mine, now and forever, hear me?" Jon growled out, picking up his speed again.

"Yes, oh my gods, oh gods, oh fuck, I'm your bitch my wolf, only yours, oh god, please, ngh more oh gods," Arianne declared out loud, her head falling back against the wall and letting out an enormous moan as Jon changed angles towards her g spot and began to fuck her in to the wall, her right hand absentmindedly playing with her button furiously. He kissed her, roughly pushing her head in to the wall with his lips, surely bruising her own and stealing her oxygen as her knees pressed further in to her tits, Jon getting as deep as he possibly could and triggering Arianne's fourth orgasm of the night.

"Oooooooo so big fuck," She moaned, losing energy as her fingers rubbed at her clit more lazily than before, her lover still thrusting in to her.

"Fuck, you fuckin' like that?" Jon grounded out, maintaining his tempo, looking his lover in the eye.

"Fuck yes, oh gods, ngh, so fucking full," Arianne sounded out, nearly choking on her own words as Jon's cock stabbed her womb over and over again.

When she came again, for the fifth time, Jon set her down on to her feet, though she would have fell due to her legs being jelly, had Jon not caught her. He turned her around to face the wall, bending her over and pulling one arm tight around her waist to hoist her up in to the air as his cock pushed in to her cunt, shoving her in to the wall when his hips met her ass. Her ass jiggled and wiggled as Jon thrust in to her pussy, prompting him to slap each cheek again, grabbing the second one he slapped by the handful, roughly pawing at it. He pummeled her g spot, in out, in out, stretching her walls over and over again, poking her cervix time after time until her walls convulsed around him once more.

When she came down from her sixth climax, Jon released her phat booty, trailing his hand up her spine as he roughly hammered in to her cunt. His hand trailed around her throat, gripping it as tightly as earlier, cutting off most of her air, turning her face as red as her butt.

"Your mouth is mine, your tits are mine, your ass is mine, this cunt is mine," Jon growled, nearly roaring. Arianne could only whimper in affirmation.

Eventually, the constant pressure in her pussy and the nonstop onslaught of power being exerted in to her womb made Arianne cum for the seventh time, her entire body going numb as her face was pushed in to the wall, Jon's hand still gripping her throat and his cock still invading the land only meant for him. The wild gripping and squeezing of his love's pussy's seventh climax finally threw Jon over the edge as he finished his thrusting as he had earlier in her mouth, several forceful thrusts in to her as deep as possible as he released her throat and gripped her hips. He fired jets of jizz when he pulled back and delivered the cum directly in to her womb, pulling back and painting her walls, then going back in to shoot several streams in to her cervix, releasing one of the largest Jon ever had.

When he finished cumming, his fluids and hers overflowing, spilling out of her slit around his cock, he pulled her close to him, carrying her to the bed with him still in her. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, her groin pulling at him, keeping him from leaving. He laid down behind her, the two still connected as Jon wrapped his arms around her, hers intertwining in his as his face nuzzled her neck, hugging her close.

"I love you, so much," Jon whispers, yawning and closing his eyes, drifting off.

 **End of Lemon, Start of Dream State**

 _Jon was in the rocky mountains of the North where he had finally caught up to the Mountain that Rides, Ser Gregor Clegane, who had been trying to escape across the Wall. Instead, he had killed his horse in frustration in the Wolfswood. He had fled in to the mountains, hoping to lose the lone hunter after him. But, when they had met a month earlier before Gregor had escaped, the Thirsty Wolf had gotten a taste of his blood, and would stop for nothing._

 _Gregor had been running, stopping to catch his breath in a clearing, his clearly visible breath, surrounded by rocks, pines, and snow. He heard a crunch behind him and spun around, greatsword in hand. When he caught sight of the direwolf helm and the bare dual Valyrian steel swords, Gregor paled. He had never really experienced fear, but when he had last met the smaller man, after the Northerner had put his knife through Gregor's hand, he had looked in Jon's eyes and saw the absolution, the death and war that exuded from the Stark's very pores. So, he had ran. Now, there is no more running._

 _"_ _Your time has come, Clegane. The Gods call for your judgment… and your head," Jon smirked at the giant, laughing inwardly at the cowardly expression in his prey's eyes._

 _"Step away you fuckin' cunt!" Gregor warned, pointing his sword at Jon._

 _"Before I kill you, I'll cut you open, break your ribs, and rip out your lungs. I'll feed your eyes and testicles and heart to the goats, and then, maybe I'll take your head if I feel merciful," Jon told the Mountain, his tone conveying total honesty. Gregor and Jon charged._

 _Gregor swiped with his sword to take off Jon's head, but he was far too quick for the lumbering fool. He ducked under it an_ _d_ _jabbed with Longclaw quickly, drawing a cut across Gregor's face. Gregor felt the rage overcome him and pressed forward. He hacked and slashed and swung and stabbed, but to no avail, as Jon merely jumped out of the way or dodged every strike thrown his way. Then, the tides turned and Jon chased after Gregor._

 _Gregor's feet moved as fast as they could to back up, barely keeping him from the swords known the world round for their innate ability to cause death and utter destruction in the hands of their master._ _But, due to his fear, Gregor was unable to see behind him, tripping over a rock and landing on his ass. Jon sent a backhanded strike with Dawn, knocking the sword to the left, though Gregor's strong grip meant it merely turned to the side. That was what Jon planned, and Longclaw was close behind, cutting through Gregor's right hand fingers, dropping the sword. Clegane roared and his left hand came up, but Jon sent Dawn through that hand, cutting off half of the palm and all the fingers. The eight foot tall man roared before quieting, almost whimpering. Jon stabbed his swords through the legs before ripping them out, stabbing them in to the ground._

 _Jon kicked Clegane over on to his stomach, hands bleeding out on to the snow covered ground, turning it all a red pink. The Stark pulled out Northwind, the knife given to him by Oberyn Martell, and cut the straps on Gregor's armor, pulling the back of the breastplate off._

 _When he cut the tunic away, he knew Gregor was scared. He could_ ** _smell_** _the fear. Then, when Jon placed the first opening slash along his back, he could smell the blood too. He placed several more in the exact spots the old book in Skagos had mentioned. When he finished, he stabbed Northwind in to the ground, to be used soon. He reached through the wounds, his hand_ _ripping open the flesh. He gripped the rib cage, and when it wouldn't move, he grabbed Northwind and hit the bones with the pommel to break them. Gregor went limp, but Jon would have none of that, pouring his cold water all over Gregor's head and smacking him until he awoke._

 _When he had properly awoken the giant and broke the ribs correctly, he pulled them to the sides, forcing them out so they went to the sides, resembling wings. He gripped the lungs as Gregor cried out in pain, screaming as Jon tore them out. As Gregor's life force drained from him, Jon quickly grabbed the knife and pulled the monstrous head up, placing the blade at the neck, and began sawing through it, back and forth at a rapid and steady pace._

 _By the time he was done sawing through the head off, Gregor was dead. Jon dragged the body over to two close trees, with some difficulty, though the snow and blood helped. Jon leaned the corpse against the two trees so that his wings were supported by the trunks, the opening between them revealing the gruesome insides of the Mountain That Rides. Jon retrieved the head and his weapons and, abnormally calm, set off back to Cadeyrn and Ghost, then down the trail to the Kingsroad. When he reached the road, a group of Umber men, led by Hothor and Mors themselves looked at him, eyeing his blood covered forearms and torso. Jon smiled._

 _"He's up there," Jon said, jerking his head in the direction behind him._

 **End of Dream State**

"Jon, love, wake up, Jon!" Arianne's voice shouted, smacking him upside the head. Jon's eyes opened and he looked at her beautiful face with her tousled hair and naked upper body.

"Well hello beautiful," Jon smirked and Arianne rolled her eyes at him. She got up, throwing him some clothes, black as always.

"Come on, you never sleep past dawn, and you're leaving today," Arianne explained, suddenly stiffer and colder by the end of the sentence.

"Oh, come now, mo banríon, you know why I have to do this. All men worship the Gods and the world in some way, their own way. Robert Baratheon liked to drink and hunt. My father would sit in silence in the Godswood and pray. Tyrion drinks and fucks prostitutes, wherever he is," Jon told her, putting on the clothes. Arianne huffed, turning to him and glaring slightly.

"And you sail off to wage war, I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it," Arianne said, her arms crossed in frustration as she turned from Jon to look out the window. Jon, still shirtless though in trouser and boot, came up behind her, his 6'6" frame towering over her 5'2" frame. He hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms around her.

"I know you don't like it, and you're worried. I love you more for it, but I can't just stop. I've gone two years without a real fight, sure I've sparred with the men, but it's not the same," Jon told her, turning her around.

"I know," Arianne sighed, "Just come back to us, okay? I can just feel it, there's another one on the way from last night."

Jon smiled, having learned to trust her intuition on these things after the second pregnancy. He placed his right hand on her belly and left hand under her chin, leaning down to capture a kiss. It was soft and sweet, and when they pulled away they both smiled. They pulled apart and Jon put on his cloak, allowing Arianne to lace his boots and strap his armor on to him, something sweet and helpful that he insisted she needn't do. She still did it anyway.

"To make sure you've at least got your armor on right," She always says, jokingly insulting his ability to protect himself with his own armor. He smiles at her, kissing her again before slinging his swords and shield to his back, his dagger to his waist, and grabbing his spear. He waits for her to have a robe on before opening the door and stepping out. She would be getting ready soon, for she would follow them and leave to Dorne with the kids to visit her family.

Jon enters the hall, being greeted by the lords and notable captains of Skagos and Skane, along with Jon's first mate and new Sap-Veins brother, Daimhín, and Robert and Rickon as well. Rickon is angry because he's not allowed to come with them, even though Robert is. Jon's already explained that Robert is fourteen years old, meaning he's old enough to go to war by Skagosi standards. Rickon is only eleven, still a bit too young. The men all sit and eat. Roasted goat seasoned in different peppers from Dorne, which Jon had come to love, potatoes with some more peppers and some thick, sweet syrup on it, followed by two apples and an orange. They drink their Skagosi Ale once they've finished their food and leave, bidding farewell to family and friends, Jon having to pry himself from his kids, only one of which, Jon II, his eldest, understanding what his father was leaving for. The seven year old helped to pry his brothers and sister from his father, so that Jon may go find peace at war in the East.

The contingent of men arrived at Stark's Strait, the passage of water between Kingshouse and Dawnwarden, which technically isn't a strait. It leads to the Shivering Sea either way, but leaving the Southern way would lead you towards the Narrow Sea, so they called it a strait all the same.

In the time of the arrivals on Skagos from the Iron Islands and the North growing and training, as well as overall better lives, the forces and population of Skagos had grown quite large. Whereas at one point the military of the island was below 20,000 during the War of the Five Kings, it had risen back up, now being at 28,000. Many war orphans admired the ice veined warriors of Skagos and came to be like them, many of them old enough then to be grown men by now, and given another year, they may hit 30,000 men strong. 25,000 men would stay on Skagos, including the island Skane, to guard it while 3,000 men left on their warships. The fleet in the strait showed it. Entire crowds of men, ships sitting on the shore close to Kingshouse, ships all the way by Dawnwarden, ships in rows in between the two shores, around 85 ships in total.

When Jon appeared, each man saluted him in the Skagosi fashion, fist over chest and bowing the head.. He trotted down the hill, making note of the amount of new warships. Many had spent time doing as Jon had done, upgrading the longships to be bigger, more prepared warships. Something of a hybrid between longships and war galleys, holding more men and being stronger and tougher. Jon's own ship now held 100 men. It also allowed for the transportation of treasures and horses, much easier than before. So, when didn't see too many horses, he knew it was because the steeds were down below, Skagos having returned to breeding some of the greatest horses the world has ever seen.

Jon rode up on to deck, along with Daimhín, greeting the crew and sharing jokes. When Jon set his horse below deck, the entire fleet prepared to leave, readying the sails.

"Alright, let's go!" Jon shouted, the fleet taking off forward.

- **Sorry, But I Think We Should Linebreak** -

When Jon's 85 ships arrived in Blackwater Bay it was to nervous looks from the natives, perhaps even fearful, though the people had no need to fear anything of him. Jon and his fleet were on their way South to the Stepstones, perhaps for piracy, perhaps to go farther South if Jon felt the urge. First though, he must stop in King's Landing for the Council of the Kings. Every other year, the Eight Kings would show up in a different city, and the city would have great festivities in honor of the four year long peace. The Kings would meet to discuss business, trade, matters of conflict, and proposals to change or marriage. Two years ago, at the first Council of the Kings, the Eight had rode to King's Landing to celebrate their peace and pay their respects to the late King Tywin, who had finally passed to rejoin his wife in what is after. Jaime was king, one of Jon's dearest friends, and now, all Eight Kings had come to King's Landing, where they would talk. It was usually entirely unserious, just formal to make a good showing for the people, as well as an excuse to leave behind duties for a couple weeks. Jon had an inkling, though, and he rather disliked the feeling of the place. Telling himself that it was no more than a negative nostalgia from his last trip to this city, Jon mounted Cadeyrn, waved on his lords and first mate, whistled to Ghost, and rode through the Gate.

After making their way through the city and to the Red Keep, Jon entered the great hall, greeting the other seven kings around the table where they signed the treaty which moved from city to city, with a smile and embraces. The foreboding feeling was there, and Jon had a suspicion that the others felt it, but it could not have possibly been anything. None of them had truly gone in to conflict in at least two years, and only that because of the Skagosi raiding Ibben and pirating in the Stepstones.

"So here's where I find you cunts," Jon bellows, grinning from ear to ear. Some of the others laugh, others simply smiling, as Robb stood and embraced Jon, followed by Edmure, then Doran, then Jaime and the others. "So, all smiles, I'd say no complaints then!"

"Well I've got a complaint," King Willas Tyrell proclaimed, "I sailed here and you're most likely taking up the entire bay."

"You're damn right I am," Jon answered back jokingly, taking a seat in his armor and crown, being as comfortable in them, after almost a decade of being a true warrior, as most men were in robes.

"Calm, you two," Doran said, placating the scholar and the warrior and smiling, "A council is no place for cripples and savages to pick on each other."

"Alright, alright," Robb proclaimed, rubbing his temples but smiling nonetheless, "You're all pretty, ladies, now if we could get on to the matters at hand so that we can join the festivities, it would be appreciated."

"Well, he's got it right enough," Lord Royce of the Vale spoke, still in Robert's spot for another two years.

"Aye, so any important matters?" Jon questioned, sitting up in his seat in excitement of hearing something of a new war perhaps.

"Aye," Robb replied, "The Wildlings grow bolder and bolder, though the defenses along the Wall have been bolstered. Much has been rebuilt, but I fear that if we do not ride out and take this Mance Rayder soon, he'll be in our backyards by Winter."

"Fear not, Robb, the North shall not march in to the lands beyond the Wall alone," Edmure said, proud chin out in the air. "I speak for all of us, I think, when I say that our swords are yours." After a chorus of agreement, Robb thanked his fellow leaders and grew silent.

"There have been reports," Gendry said, "That this Daenerys Targaryen is on her way here, close, with 50,000 Dothraki screamers, 10,000 Unsullied, and whatever remains of the Ironborn, as well as two sellsword companies, one pirate lord Salladhor Saan, a large enough fleet to contain this horde, and three dragons. It may not seem like much compared to our numbers, but all that with three dragons is more than Aegon started out with over three hundred years ago."

"Our swords are yours as well," Jon answered Gendry, already filled with anticipation for the first two matters brought up today to come to fruition. "Even dragons die." Baratheon nodded and proclaimed his gratitude. Jon looked around, and Doran prepared to say something before a messenger in Baratheon black and gold ran through the doors, pale white and visibly shaken.

"My kings," He panted, "Come quick… dragons!"

Every king around the table jumped to their feet and ran outside immediately, though Willas limped his way there. When they exited the hall, they were not disappointed. There, in front and above the Red Keep, were three dragons, though two flew every which way, while one hovered in air, batting it's wings to keep it up. It was enormous, though not as enormous as the largest dragon, and was black with red, a monstrous beast. On it's back was a beautiful young woman in a revealing, obviously comfortable black and red dress. Her hair was platinum blonde, and Jon could tell no more from the distance she was at. When she closed in, closer than ever, and the dragon touched the ground, there was a very slight shake, and Jon could plainly see her intense, purple eyes. She looked at the Eight Kings and appeared almost distasteful.

"It was nice of you all to show up to kneel all at once," The girl, Daenerys, mused.

"There must be a misunderstanding. You are here to offer your surrender," Jon fired back. She looked at him, her gaze hot.

"There will be war before that happens, and you, Valītsossa ( **boys** ), are not prepared as you imagine yourself to be. Kneel, and you shall be forgiven for your families crimes."

"Aye, there will be war, though our preparations are our concerns as of now, not yours yet. Plus, sesīr zaldrīzoti rhaenagon morghon isse vīlībāzma, Riña, ( **Even dragons meet death in war, Girl** )," Was Jon's natural response. Her vision attempted to bore holes through him, but he merely looked back at her, severely unimpressed by her attempt to intimidate him.

"The Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms are mine by right," Daenerys declared.

"By what right do you claim them? Robert Baratheon claimed them in the same way your ancestor Aegon did, by conquering them. The others in your family inherited it from their fathers. Your father is not the king, nor have you conquered the realms yet," Jon spoke for the collective kings.

"Who are you?" The last Targaryen asked.

"I am Jon Stark, King of Skagos. Sometimes, they call me the Thirsty Wolf." Her look intensified, trying even harder, though she looked a bit wary before becoming confident once more.

"Then I shall see you in fire, Stark," She proclaimed, turning to the other kings.

"Kneel to me now, and you shall not share the fate your fool of a comrade will," She commanded. When none of the men moved, simply staring at her, her lips pursed and she rose on her dragon. They rose in to the sky, and Jon turned to discuss raising the banners with the other kings when Doran's eyes went wide and he pushed past Jon. When Jon turned around, he understood why.

The three dragons, black, white, and red all flew around Blackwater Bay, and in the middle of the bay was _The Blue-Jay_ , his wife Arianne's ship that he had built for her. Then, the dragons let loose a stream of fire, and Jon's paralysis broke, sending him on a hurtling path towards the ships and flames.

- **I Could Cliffhanger You, But I'm a Nice Guy, so Linebreak** -

When Jon hit the bay, what was left of his crew was putting out the flames on the _Seawolf,_ and some other survivors dragged others out of the water. Jon jumped in to a small rowboat that held a few other men heading to get survivors, and he pointed them in the direction of the burning wreckage that was the _Blue-Jay_.

Getting near to the ship, Jon noticed several bodies in the water, and a cluster attempting to stay up on a piece of a ship. Quickly dropping his armor and weapons in to the boat, he dove in, swimming over and grabbing the group.

Among the group were the pregnant Nym who seemed fine, a small and crying Ashara who was wet without a scratch, his eldest son Jon who's left shoulder was badly burnt as he cried, and a young Skulgarth, not breathing. Jon grabbed them as the rowboat came closer and helped lift them up before jumping on to the small boat and grabbing Skulgarth, pressing on his chest at a steady pace. Suddenly, the child started coughing up water, opening his eyes, and Jon cried out, laughing and hugging the boy as the boat began back towards the docks. Jon spun on a frozen Nymeria, staring at her before grabbing her shoulders.

"Where's Arianne and Darragh? Where are my wife and son?" Jon demanded, shaking her. She started sobbing, before answering him.

"She was handing the kids down to us on a rowboat when the dragons came toward us. She had Darragh, and she turned to come to the railing, and then, then the man flipped the boat and it all got so hot. The water boiled above us and the lights blazed," Nym was a mess, and Jon let go of her, staring at her until the rowboat hit the deck and he helped his children on to the docks while Smalljon helped his pregnant wife on to land.

A maester quickly got to work on Jon II's shoulder as tears streamed down his face, the seven year old Skagosi refusing to open his mouth, screaming and moaning through his lips. Jon sat down on the edge of the docks, his armor and weapons next to him. Skulgarth waddled over and sat in his lap, bawling. Someone handed him Ashara, who he rocked to quiet, and when little Jon's shoulder was bandaged, he approached his father who pulled him in to an embrace, rocking his children as they cried in to him, tears streaming down his own face silently. People ran and worried behind him, but Jon just stared out in to the waters, at the flaming wreckage and the floating corpses.

"Even dragons die," Jon whispered, staring at the massacre. "Na Dragún beidh bas."


	17. Chapter 17: Never Have I Been Closer

**Soooo, anxious at all? Wanna see bout Arianne, yeah? Well, we got to 200 followers, which I value more than my characters themselves, so I'm excited about that. But, one question, for whatever reason, I've gotten multiple comments over Arianne, but not a single motherfucker mentioned that Darragh, one of Jon's twin sons, would have been killed by if Arianne had died. You heartless fucks. Also, shoutout to my man Wim Hof, who created the method Jon'll be doin. The horn later on will be the "Cinematic Creepy War Horn Sound Effect" by SoundEffectsFactory.**

 **To MarvelMyra (Guest): I know, if you read on, I explain that in an A.N.**

 **To the Guest who roasted this story with the "million monkey million typewriter" line: I ain't even be mad, that's a damn good roast. Cheers my friend. Would be appreciated though if these people who don't like my story would get on accounts and troll from there. Now I have to respond from here, and I like to know the haters get my responses. Oh well. You do you, monkey man.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 17: Never Have I Been Closer To It**

Tyrion sat in his seat beside Jorah Mormont as Daenerys took her seat, before the messenger came before them and bowed, rising when bid by the Targaryen queen.

"Mhysa, I come with the report on the burning of the fleet in Blackwater Bay," The brown skinned man told her.

"Of course. What have you learned?" Dany asked, a feeling inside him that he would not like this report.

"Many of the ships have been burnt, over half, though some of the Skagosi ships survived and set off North while their men without ships went by land. Many died, the counting is not yet done, though among them are a Royce of the Vale, a Tyrell cousin, two Starks..."

"Which Starks?" Tyrion questioned, suddenly awake and alert, the rest of the room shocked.

"One called Arianne, and one of her sons called Darragh," The man answered, confused of their significance. Tyrion waved him away, and after the queen did so as well, he left. Tyrion rose from his seat, grabbing a large cup and pouring a copious amount of wine in to it. He sat once more, taking a deep drink from the cup.

"What is on your mind?" Dany asked, the other members of her council staring at Tyrion.

"Do you know who Arianne and Darragh were?" Tyrion asked, eyes closed.

"No. Who?" Daenerys asked, her dragon-like temper fit to act up due to the almost condescending tone to the Imp's words.

"Jon Stark, the King of Skagos who refused to bow or kneel to you, had a wife named Arianne. Reports tell us that the two had four children, another Jon, twins named Skulgarth and Darragh, and a girl named Ashara. Not only did you challenge the Thirsty Wolf, you killed his wife and one of his sons as you prodded him."

"Well surely even a leader as ruthless and foolish as Jon Stark will kneel rather than avenge his family if his people are at risk of burning?" Dany asked.

Tyrion threw his cup across the room, hearing it shatter against a wall. He closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The last time someone killed a member of his family, he charged in to war with a willing army behind him. The Skagosi are the last of all the peoples of the Kingdoms of Westeros who still believe that there is no better death than one in combat. And their pride was insulted because someone had the nerve to kill their King's father. What, in the Gods names, do you think they will feel when they see the burnt corpses of their queen and one their princes?" Tyrion asked, a headache looming. Dany looked unsure, and Tyrion continued. "Before, perhaps there could have been peace. If you had taken the Seven Kingdoms and let the Starks in the North live, you could have made a peace with Skagos, that they would sign a treaty with you. Now, the only peace that will be made between the dragon and the bloody direwolf is when one is dead and gone. You will have to kill ever Skagosi alive in this world if you ever hope of not having to fear retribution."

- **Linebreak** -

Jon sat on the deck of the Seawolf as the snowflakes fell around him. He rested, shirtless, in boots and trousers, back straight as an arrow with his eyes wide open and fists at his sides. He stared at everything yet nothing, and felt the tears freeze on his face as the cold, numbing air burned the areas along his skin he had yet to lose sensation in. His men rowed at the oars toward the white shore of Hardhome as his diaphragm moved with the rhythm of his breathing, in and out, breathing deep until his lungs were close to bursting, then releasing some in a short and strong burst, repeating the action over and over again. The cold filled his lungs and the icy sprinkles of saltwater peppering his face would have stung if Jon had felt it. Robert came up beside him.

"You sit there, silent and motionless, as your wife and one of your sons lay at the bottom of a bay far to the South. Why?"

"Because, when the ice inches itself towards your heart through your veins, it drives you North, an omnipotent force that drags you to the ice and snows," Jon replied, his voice rough after not having talked for the past three days.

"Your rage is a fire that should burn away the cold, is it not?" Jon looked up at the young man, incredulous.

"Burn it away? Never have I been closer to it," Jon answered, staring in to Robert's eyes. Robert shifted when the gray orbs bore in to his own blue ones, feeling as if they had ripped his soul out if his body and breathed a Northern wind down upon it, shaking him to the very core. Though before they were rough and strong, now they seemed so utterly haunted, as if he might search the halls of a castle aimlessly in some legend, waiting for his next victim to appear.

"At least put your armor on, Jon," Robert told him, handing him the plate. "There are more Wildlings than Skagosi there, and we have no idea where they are."

Jon strapped on the armor with nothing under it, the metal of the breastplate brushing past his frozen and wet hair before the straps of all his weapons soon followed. Jon stood, feeling the cold air whip by him before the lead ship of this portion of the Stone Fleet thudded in to the solid ground of the ancient ruins the Skagosi had feasted from centuries ago. Without bothering to eye the treeline or buildings as Jon would have done previously in a moment of tranquility, he mounted Cadeyrn and rode off of his ship, followed closely by his large, white companion, Ghost.

After the… incident at Blackwater Bay, the Burnt Bay, the threat of the dragon bitch and her armies grew stronger. They had had some naval troubles and were still on their way, but would take longer than expected. The other kings had all attempted to force Jon not to chase her down, but only Doran who's grief came close to Jon's own had managed to speak to him. They had both lost a child, and they had both lost Arianne, though for Doran they were on in the same and for Jon… the thought of Darragh's burnt little corpse when they had found him brought a sob to his throat and water to his eyes. He pushed them down.

Doran had asked him to be patient, for they would have their revenge. Jon had agreed and instead told Robb to set North, for they would deal with the Wildling threat before the other large threat came to their doors as well. Then, they would go South to uproot the Brotherhood Without Banners which had popped up again for the first time in four years. All the while, they would look for any sign of Stannis, who reports said was amassing a large army in Essos, nearly fully prepared to invade Westeros. Jon knew he should have hunted down every enemy of the new governments of Westeros, and this was the price they all had to pay for Jon's mercy. Never again would it happen. Jon began his horse forward at a steady walking pace, so that he would soon be followed by most of the 3,000 men behind him. All those who had survived the burning, whether or not they were burnt themselves, had come North with Jon, as well as a few others who had come from Skagos on their way back North.

Jon and his 2,000 horsemen were only at Hardhome to check for Wildling activity. Then they would head West to secretly watch over one of Robb's three forces from Eastwatch. They would wait in hiding as they continued along until the Antler River, as it was expected that an ambush would take place sometime before there. So, 2,000 mounted and armored Wolves of War would watch over a group of ten thousand Stormland, Dornish, and Night's Watch men. Ten thousand Westerland, Reach, and Night's Watch men would travel from the Shadow Tower as the Reach fleet guarded the Bay of Ice. Twenty thousand Riverland, Vale, North, and Night's Watch men traveled from Castle Black. They all had their specific targets, of which most men were informed of. However, Jon's certain path was one Robb had not asked, as the still ever honorable Young Wolf wanted no knowledge of what his increasingly colder brother would do to those who would threaten his or his family's lands. Jon knew, though, that when the ten thousand Eastwatch men hit Antler River, Jon would leave them as the Stone Fleet came to get the two thousand Skagosi cavalry at the mouth of it. From there it was North, where they would go far enough to see the edge of the white deserts before stopping and riding down on the Wildling villages and encampments from behind, from the even colder North, where they least expected it. The Wildlings were not prepared to face the Skagosi again, Jon was sure of it.

- **How many line's could a linebreak break if a… Ah fuck it** -

When Jon rode down on the Thenn settlement in a valley in the middle of the far Northern mountains, he expected warriors or people. Instead, he was met with the sight of abandoned homes, save for a few old beings with so very little life left they couldn't have made it South. Jon refused to have them put to the sword. They would die eventually, be it from starvation or cold, and there was no reason to waste time and energy doing it quickly and mercifully, as far as Jon was concerned. So, they rode further South yet, finding the same sight over and over again.

Jon had already been suspicious enough with no ambushes before the Antler River, though he had heard no word of activity from the other kings up here, Robb in the center, or the Young Falcon Robert in the East, or the Prince Garlan the Gallant of the Reach, a friend of Jon's, who lead the men in the West. Jon was nearing the Fist of the First men now, to see if that was where the Wildlings had escaped to. By the time they had reached the end of the Skirling Pass however, Jon's question had been answered.

On top of the giant structure that was the Fist of the First Men were hundreds of Wildlings, and there were more all around every side of the rock. However, all the women and children were with several hundred warriors on the Northern side of the Fist, which was the side Jon was facing after having crossed the Milkwater at the Giant's Stairs. There weren't nearly as many as Jon had thought, people or warriors, perhaps a few thousand in total. Jon doubted the bodies littering the ground under the feet of the warriors of the Eight Kingdoms in the South, East and West of the rock would make up enough to amount to the almost half a hundred thousand as expected. However, seeing that if there were reinforcements waiting to flank Jon's allies they would have done it already, Jon analyzed the battlegrounds, prepared to enter the conflict.

Warriors littered the crowd of women and kids on Jon's side, and they lined the Fist on this side as well, though all the archers seemed to be busy on other sides taking care of the forces under Jon's family and friend. There were no ditches lined with pikes, and there were no defenses. The only reason that the non-Wildlings had not surrounded the Fist was fear of spreading too thin if the Wildlings decided to charge down one side. Shouting the ancient war cry of the Skagosi, Jon exited the sloping treeline at full speed on Cadeyrn towards the Wildlings.

"Go Glóir! Go Cogadh! Go Bás!" Jon yelled at the top of his lungs, allowing the rage concealed in him to burst forth from his chest and throat. Armored horse and spear alike smashed through the Wildling horde when Jon hit them. The children, as always, ran in fear. The men and women looked shocked until a man ran at Jon with his bronze battleaxe, looking so much like the scarred warrior that had been Jon's second ever kill. Jon thrust Icicle at the charging man, forcing him to stop in Ghost's path right as the great direwolf lunged, hitting the man and dragging him to the ground where the white wolf gnawed on his skull. Then, chaos erupted and Jon's cavalry crashed in to the frenzy of death.

While Jon's men joined the fight, he himself dismounted, slapping Cadeyrn on the rear to prompt him back to behind the battle in an effort to keep Jon's trusted mount out of unnecessary danger. The Stark spun and thrust his spear through the chest of a man that had charged Jon from behind, only to be stopped in his tracks by six feet of weirwood, iron, and Valyrian steel. When Jon ripped it out, the corpse hit the ground and Jon looked, eyeing a fleeing woman. She ran towards the edge of the battle to the West, and would have reached the lines to escape had Jon's spear not flown through the air from twenty-five yards and found it's way through her heart and lungs, impaling her from the side. Unsheathing Longclaw and reasserting his grip on his spiked shield, Jon rushed in to the fray.

A large bearded man hacked at Jon downward with his shortsword, only for Jon to turn, letting it fly right by him as he aimed Longclaw forward at throat level, stepping forward and pushing the blade through the Wildling's throat. He tore it out, spinning with the motion, knocking a sword away and slamming the edge of his shield in to another approaching man's jaw with an overhand punch. The chin and jaw clearly and audibly broke, causing the man to drop to his knees as Jon thrust to his left, pushing his sword through the earlier swordsman's ribcage and sliding it out in a downward diagonal motion that cut the head of the kneeling man clean in two.

By the time Jon had returned to the main portion of the battle, his men had already put every unarmed man or woman to the sword as well as plenty of armed ones and were dismounted, shields up and swords or axes out as they quickly rushed forward in to the remainder of the armed force. Jon tore through the front line, cutting down a backwardly retreating Wildling with a well placed slash before blocking one by another man, throwing the shield out in a bash to catch the man in the face, crushing his face piercing through it. He kicked the body off the shield and in to a group of men who slightly fell back under the weight of the body and force of the kick. That was all the aptly named Wolves of War needed, smelling and seeing the opportunity as they tore the Wildlings line apart from that one point.

Jon thrust Longclaw, stabbing a fighter in the eye before retracting the blade and lifting up his shield as a barrage of arrows rained down on him and his men. Still, the Skagosi advanced, rapidly working it's way through the ranks of the Wildlings. Fearing what would happen, the Wildlings in command on the Fist had lined plenty of their archers from the other sides on to the North side as most of the men on top of the Fist who held no bow charged down it's slope to change the tides of the battle. Or so they hoped.

When the crowd of Wildlings pushed against Jon and his killers, they planted their feet firmly and held tight, refusing to move an inch in the opposite direction. When the force of the push had finally died down, they pushed back, opening more gaps in the line as Wildlings stumbled and Skagosi blades found their way through the holes and in to unsuspecting victims. Jon's own blade was red and dripping as it found it's way towards it's next soul, reaping the spirit before the man knew what was happening. Slowly, the Wildlings were being pushed back up the Fist, being cut down along the way. Unimpressed with their performance so far, the Stark king pushed harder, yelling at his men to do likewise so that they could go find a real fight. A decent one. Then, another volley of arrows hit, several finding their way in to Jon's shield before it stopped again, and Jon continued to hack and slash and shove at the retreating men before him. Eventually, a Wildling tripped several Wildlings up from Jon's opponent, rolling down in to another and another, eventually taking out an entire line of men to Jon. The Thirsty Wolf moved to the side and picked one leg up, barely dodging the falling men as they were pierced by passing Skagosi weapons. Jon leapt in to the gap before it could close, opening an oncoming man from neck to naval with a vicious slash, the pressure in the body forcing the blood to gush out all over Jon. He ducked under a blade from the side as his men rushed through the large hole in the defense, and Jon thrust Longclaw through his attacker's stomach. He slashed at another, opening his neck all over Jon's armor. He thrust his blade through the artery in another man's neck, opening it up before decapitating the next man and ducking under the next's spear, driving his sword up and through the chest. The man coughed his blood out on to Jon as Jon ripped Longclaw out and turned, allowing the corpse to fall past him. He picked up his shield, blocking another onslaught of arrows which fell in to the Wildlings as well, taking a few of Jon's men though the majority of the victims were Wildlings.

The Skagosi finally broke through the lines in every area, cutting down the inferior Wildling warriors and drinking in the sight of the white and black ground and freshly falling snow turning red and pink from the crimson liquid spilling out of their foes. When the massacre was nearly over and the path was clear, Jon and his men rushed up and over the edge of the Fist, in to the ranks of archers and few warriors. They cut down archer after archer who fought vigorously with dagger or sword but could not do much more than fight, rarely winning. All of the Skagosi who had not died swept over the giant rock, from edge to edge, ending the archers reign of death over the allies of the Wall.

Jon lunged forward and lopped an archers arm off of his body, dropping him. He turned and came face to face with two men who weren't archers. One was a thick, blond-haired man with watery eyes gripping a steel scythe. The other was shorter, small with a knobby chin, thin mustache and pinched expression. His hair was dark, though both their eyes were equally cruel and cold. If the tales Jon had heard were true, these would be The Lord of Bones, or Rattleshirt, and the Weeper.

The weeper swung his scythe at Jon from the side, which Jon jumped aside to dodge. Rattleshirt threw a jab with his sword at Jon's midsection. When Jon jumped aside from that, the scythe came back down and caught his shield in a way, the blade over the shield but not touching him. It ripped the shield from his grasp and threw him toward the Weeper. When Jon went forward, he put all his momentum in to ramming in to the skinnier, slightly shorter man, and plowed through him, knocking him to the ground as Jon stepped away, his back to the two infamous Wildling raiders as he reached up and drew Dawn from his back, holding both of his blades out to the side and stretching, breathing in deep from behind his direwolf helm before he turned around, allowing the two to eye him.

Rattleshirt was the first to start up the fighting again, slashing forward at Jon. The Stark batted the strike aside, throwing his own which cut a shallow line in to the Lord of Bones' helm. He turned and met the scythe's slash with his other sword, knocking it back before kicking the Weeper and slashing at the Lord of Bones. When Rattleshirt parried the strike, Jon threw his other blade too, glancing off of the smaller man's bone armor. He rushed in, throwing strikes which the Lord of Bones could barely evade before turning and catching the scythe that was coming at him from behind. When Longclaw caught the weapon, Dawn came swinging in to the shaft of it, breaking the weapon before Jon kicked the Weeper away once more. He spun, throwing a distracting slash with Longclaw at Rattleshirt who caught it with his sword, another notch along the blade, before Dawn came down on the crack in the Lord of Bones' giant skull helm. It broke through the skull, especially since it was directly on a previous crack, and bit deep in to the skull of the man beneath it. Jon reversed his grip on the buried blade, spinning while reversing his grip on Longclaw as he drove it back behind him, burying it in the chest of the dagger clutching Weeper.

Jon retracted his blades harshly, letting the bodies hit the rock floor as Jon placed the Valyrian steel swords in the sheaths, eyeing the dying battlefield as his men finished the fighting, mowing through Wildlings on the rock as Jon's allies finished up the forces on the slopes. He walked over, retrieving his shield before a blood covered Ghost ran up, Icicle clutched in between his teeth. Jon grabbed the spear, thanking the enormous wolf that reached Jon's shoulders.

Robb, Robert and Garlan all rode on to the rock, stopping by Jon and dismounting as Jon removed his helm, it almost slipping from his hands as he was covered from head to toe in blood. The blood was quickly freezing on Jon, but he felt nothing as he watched his brother, cousin, and friend approach him. They stared at him, the area around his mouth being blood soaked, as they came towards him and he dug the bottom tip of Icicle in to a body by his feet, the rock still being littered with the corpses of the fallen.

"Jon," The youngest warrior, Robert, who had received his first kill earlier, asked. He seemed almost weary or worried. Either way, there was a tone of caution in his voice.

"Brothers," Jon answered back, looking at the three men before him, "Where are the other Wildlings?"

"It would seem they slipped past us," Garlan replied, bleeding from a few wounds along his upper body.

"Ah," Was Jon's response. "Any word from South of the Wall?"

"Aye," Robb told him, quickly growing out of the cautioned approach and returning to his regular comfort around Jon. "The Targaryen girl is at the edge of Essos, in the Stepstones, some say. There was a fire in Highgarden, and King Willas perished in it. Our friend Garlan here is to be the new king, though many are assuming that Loras is. Meanwhile, Stannis is threatening to invade the Crownlands, or perhaps the North, maybe even Skagos. Reports differ. The Wildlings that escaped us have amassed outside of Castle Black, threatening to overtake the forces there."

"Then why are we waiting?" Jon asked as Daimhín brought him the reins Cadeyrn.

"We caught a wildling who claims that they've all come South to escape the White Walkers," Robert answered, looking Jon in the eye. "He says to burn the bodies so that they shall not rise again." Jon snorted. He turned to his right hand, Daimhín.

"You've studied with the Sap-Veins," Jon stated. "What do you say, brother?"

"Naturally I'm a little skeptical they would come back now, after they were defeated so many years ago," Daimhín told Jon, who accepted the answer. When Jon turned to leave however, his friend spoke up again. "But, if Skulgarth were here, he would tell you to burn the dead. All of them."

"Very well," Jon answered, looking at Robb. "As you will brother. My men and I shall burn ours, you burn yours, and we'll let the Wildlings burn theirs. Then, I'll lead the vanguard to Castle Black."

- **Linebreak** -

Mance Rayder and Tormund Giantsbane watched the storming of Castle Black, neither especially happy but both relieved that it seemed their numbers would prove too much for their Crow foes. The Wall would fall, and the Free-Folk would be able to travel South and survive the coming Winter, maybe. Harma Dogshead marched forth with her banners in the East, Styr of the Thenns marched with his men in the West. Without warning, a noise broke out. It was deep, resounding, menacing and admittedly a little frightening, and it came from behind them. When Mance and Tormund turned, they saw a man on a horse upon the ridge behind them. He wore all black, and flew a banner by his saddle of a bloody black direwolf on a smoky, steely gray field. In his hands was a large, black horn, in the shape of the unicorns of the Eastern lands and Skagos, much like the horns Mance had seen before in trades, only it shone in the light, inlaid in runic designs with metals and blood. It was to the horseman's lips as he blew in to it, producing the sound once more. When he did it again, all Hell was unleashed on the Wildlings.

A group of horseman fell on Harma Dogshead from her East flank, taking her by surprise as 500 men on horseback fell on her and her men. One man, the one who led them, with a large one-sided battleaxe and a banner of a roaring, frozen giant in broken chains with a dawning sun behind the giant cleaved Harma herself in two. This group flew the bloody direwolf, as did the group from the West. The group from the West must have numbered 500 as well, but was led by a smaller, though still large, man covered head to toe in blood. His direwolf helm frightened several men, and he carried a sword on his back, another sword and a shield in his hands. He took the head off of Styr as Mance watched.

The armored cavalry swept across the unsuspecting Wildlings as hundreds and then thousands were cut down. The fight from the Wall increased as the black brothers fought with renewed vigor at the sight of their saviors. Several men of the cavalry fell in the chaotic mass, in fact, many did due to there being thousands of the Wildlings, only 1,000 of the horsemen. Then, others came, bearing the banners of Stark, Umber, Arryn and many others that Rayder had a hard time remembering.

Mance knew that the battle was lost, but the others did not until the man in the snarling helm came to them, placing his shield on his back but gripping his other sword.

Jon knocked his helm back and off of his head, allowing it to hang there as he approached the leaders of the Wildlings with murderous intent. Thousands of Wildlings were surrendering behind them. Though Jon's men gave none, the other men did, well, aside from some of the Northmen such as the Umber men. Jon looked to be prowling as he made his way to the leaders, and when one man who must have been a guard charged at him, Jon reached out and slashed Dawn across his chest before Longclaw came across his head. When he hit the ground, Jon continued his walk towards the men, but Robb rode up, followed closely by Robert and Garlan.

"Hold your blade, brother," Robb commanded as if he was not speaking to another king.

"You do not give me orders," Jon spit back, the blood lust upon him.

"Who among you is Mance Rayder?" Garlan asked, ignoring the brothers glaring at each other.

"I'm Mance Rayder," A man of average height with brown and gray hair stepped forward, his sharp features and intelligent eyes shining in the light as he unsheathed his weapons, throwing them to the ground before him. "And my people have bled enough."

"Aye, that they have," Robert said, kinder than Robb or Jon. Jon snarled, displeased.

"So now we parlay with craven Wildlings?" His tone was venomous, glaring at his three allies.

"You Northern lords have done so before," Mance responded.

"I am no Northern lord. I am the King of Skagos," Jon replied to the shock of the Wildlings. The Wildlings had many tales of the North, some of which were good for them, some of which were bad. None of their tales or memories of Skagos were ever good for the Wildlings.

"You slew one of my bannerman, Styr of the Thenns," Mance stated, eyeing him.

"No, I killed three of them. Styr, Rattleshirt and the Weeper. And you'd be next, if not for the King in the North," Jon spat, returning his blades tot heir scabbards and leaving for his horse. "Burn all of your dead, I'll burn mine."

- **Linebreak** -

When the formerly gone portion of the Stone Fleet containing Jon, Smalljon, and others returned to the Stark Strait, they were met with the sight of fifty ships, none of them Skagosi, with a dragon overhead. On the ships were the banners of Targaryen and Greyjoy. Smalljon, on his ship _Watergiant_ , came near to Jon as possible, shouting over the icy waves.

"A beautiful day to kill squids, huh?" Umber shouted, his icy white and blue giant in broken chains before the dawning orange sun brighter than Jon's own banner. He unslung the axe, Steele, that belonged to Seamus Graysmile so many years ago, from his back. It was Valyrian steel, a one-sided axe that curved down, though it was not a complete half circle, as the top of the blade did not touch the shaft as the bottom did and there was an opening halfway through it. ( **A.N. It's Hrothmund's Axe from Skyrim, look it up, it's dope.** )

"Aye, so it is," Jon replied, placing his helm on his head and grabbing his swords, sliding them out of their sheaths as his men followed suit, eyeing the Ironborn facing heavy resistance from the Skagosi on the beaching point nearest Kingshouse. The dragon, a green one, flying high over head appeared to be preparing to swoop down to breath flames on the Skagosi defenders. However, when he finally came low, he was met with hundreds of arrows from the Skagosi on the beach, as well as the Skagosi on the ships. It caused the Ironborn to turn, finally noticing the oncoming warriors in the strait, only moments before their ships crashed in to those of the squids.

Jon leapt on to the ship that the wolf head on the _Seawolf_ tore through, ignoring the groaning and shaking as the ship began it's slow descent in to the depths of the Stark Strait. The ship tipped a certain way, as if the wolf head was pushing it's side of the ship up. Jon caught a squids axe with his swords, kicking the man across the now sloping deck of the ship where he hit the railing, breaking it and falling in to the water. Stark spun, parrying a sword and stabbing that man through the throat, ripping it out and adding the blood to the collection of it still covering his armor and body. This was the third battle in less than a week, and Jon had had no time to clean himself.

When Jon looked on the shore, his blood came rushing through his veins faster than it had in a long time. The Targaryen banner threw him in to a rage, but the fact that under it was the Greyjoy banner and one of the three remaining Greyjoys, well, Jon's wrath was sure to be ferocious.

Theon was firing arrow after arrow, protecting his sister further up on the beach from the ramp connecting the _Silence_ and the shore. His uncle Euron watched from the ship's deck, eyeing the battle and devising plans. Theon fired another arrow, catching a man prepared to cut Asha down. As it sprouted from the man's neck, Theon heard a roar and turned, fearing the worst.

Theon was right to fear the worst, as when he turned, he spotted the most feared man in Westeros, Jon Stark, only two ships down from the _Silence_ , cutting the crew of the _Sleek Kraken_ in to ribbons. Theon turned, noticing his opening and fired an arrow at Jon's armpit as his left arm raised to catch an axe. It was just Theon's luck that Jon turned to slash at another man, which meant the arrow no longer hit an opening, instead lodging in to the scarred shield on Jon's back. Jon cut down the two final men on that ship, turning and looking at the man who fired the arrow. When he saw Theon, his rage intensified and he did not hesitate to jump on to the next ship, growing ever closer to the Turncloak.

Icy rain, cold and thick began to pour down as Jon vaulted on to the _Iron Jay_ , driving his swords through the captain's chest as he landed. He pulled them out, the sweet sound of steel sliding against flesh with blood acting as a lubricant filling Jon with excitement. He blocked a sword, and Ghost jumped on to the man holding the sword. Stark brought Dawn down on another man's sword so forcefully that the blade broke on impact and Longclaw had free reign for an uppercut, cutting the squid wide open from chin to forehead. Jon growled, kicking the nearly lifeless man in to the next opponent, both hitting the grounds before a swarm of Skagosi raiders fell on them as the sun disappeared behind the mountains to the West. The moon kept the ships lit up in light as the armies of raiders fell on one another.

The swarm of Skagosi proved too much for the Ironborn as the ship fell, though the swarm of squids on the beach increased as they fled their ships, smashing in to the Skagosi as the green and bronze dragon, Rhaegal, flew down, spraying fire in to the ranks of the Stoneborn. Jon jumped over the side of the _Iron Jay_ , hitting the deck of the _Silence_ and immediately getting swarmed by it's silent crew.

A large man with red markings over his body was the first to meet Jon's blades, stepping in with two large daggers only to be cut down. Jon moved on to the next, a Dothraki looking fellow with an arakh, who swung at Jon. The lord of Kingshouse ducked, then leaned back, then jumped back, to dodge three strikes in quick succession. Jon parried the next strike and turned, meeting a water dancer. He dodged that strike, and when the dancer came in for a thrust, the longer Dawn plunged in to his midriff. Before Jon could pull it out, the Dothraki was on him again, swinging downward though not powerfully. Jon's thick bracer covered arm came up as the blade came down, hitting the forearm and back of the hand armor and stopping. The Dothraki looked surprised for a second before Longclaw cracked open his skull, leaving his brains to leak out in to the world. The rest of the crew was being slain by the Skagosi, so Jon stepped towards Euron, who raised his sword.

Euron slashed at Jon, and the king jumped back, slashing in return at the shorter man. The Greyjoy leapt in, stabbing at Jon's chest before ducking under Longclaw, When he ducked, however, he was met with a low roundhouse from Jon's boot. Euron spit out the blood and attempted to rise. Two pieces of Valyrian steel erupted from his chest along with his blood as Longclaw and Dawn entered his upper back, cutting through his lungs and exiting from his front. He stared down at the blades, confusion and shock displayed across his features. His eyes went dim, and Jon kicked him off his blades, in to the icy waters below.

Jon ducked, just in time as an arrow flew over his head. Thanking the sense that someone was watching him, he sheathed Dawn and gripped his shield, slinging it on to his arm as he rose once more, full armor and shield in front of face. Another arrow thudded in to the round piece of oak and metal as Jon made his way to the ramp, setting a foot on it as his other leg was knocked back from under him, the force of the arrow shot at it pushing it but not puncturing it due to the armor. A third arrow embedded itself in to the shield before Theon turned to back off, only to fight the Skagosi forces pushing the squids back to the ships. When he turned around once more, the edge of Jon's shield met Theon's nose, breaking it and sending the last remaining Greyjoy male off the side of the narrow ramp.

Theon Turncloak hit the shore, and felt the rain on his face, washing the blood away before a wave hit him, almost dragging him out to sea. He rose, feeling the broken bow under him as well as the shattered arrows. When he attempted to move his sternum, a sharp pain erupted, and he reached back, feeling an arrowhead and it's shaft lodged in to his rib cage. He stood shakily, drawing his sword as Jon jumped off the edge of the ramp, landing on his feet ten feet up from the Greyjoy. Jon stalked towards Theon, and Theon rushed forward, staggering as he swung the sword in his hands at Jon. The Stark knocked it aside and headbutted the Greyjoy, knocking him on to his ass. Theon rose quickly, rushing in again. Jon had placed his shield on his back, only Longclaw in his hands, and parried the strike, his left hand coming across and connecting with Theon's jaw.

Theon stumbled back, almost hitting the ground, and dropping to a knee. He rose again, though Longclaw crashed down on to the Ironborn's blade, knocking him on to his knees and the sword out of his grip. He grabbed it again right before Jon's boot connected with the left side of his collarbone, knocking him back in to a somersault. The Squid Prince got on to his unsteady feet, looking at Jon.

"Why won't you just fucking die?" Jon growled, Longclaw opening a large cut along Theon's cheek before opening another one along his bicep. Longclaw hacked downward, taking off Theon's hand at the wrist, and the Prince cried out before he reached down, grasping his sword with his left hand in panic. Jon met his blade, almost knocking it out of the weaker hand before he planted his boot in to Theon with a spinning back kick to the chest, knocking the breath out of Theon and throwing him in to the water.

Theon Greyjoy attempted to rise again, though his legs gave out under the anxiety and the pressure of the waves and armor. He fell on to his knees, coughing up water and a little blood, feeling around for his sword. He grabbed it, raising it, only for it to be knocked from his hands by a vicious strike from Jon again. Theon looked up in to the Thirsty Wolf's eyes, and would have shuddered had it not been for the lack of energy. Jon's eyes were dark and cold behind the helm, gray and savage. He was covered in crimson, though the freezing rain seemed to be washing some of it away. He was taller than Jon remembered him being, and bigger, having filled out his frame. Longclaw pointed at Theon's heart, and Theon opened his mouth to say something. Theon wanted to say he was sorry, to tell Robb that, but it would mean nothing. Not to Jon, at least. So he closed his mouth and nodded at the Stark before him.

Jon turned to the side, gripping Longclaw with both hands and placing his weight and force behind it as he drove the sword in to the Greyjoy's chest, through his heart. Theon gave one last startled gasp, before falling still and slumping over Jon's sword. Jon picked the sword grip up, angling it so the body fell off of it and in to the waters, flooding the Stark Strait with even more blood.

The Stark heard a body drop behind him, and turned to find the last Greyjoy on her knees before him. She rose to her feet, and was about to be put back down when Jon waved his men off. She glared at him.

"Listen here boy..." Asha began.

"Kneel," Jon commanded.

"What?" Asha looked at Jon, astounded.

"I said, kneel," Jon repeated. When she didn't, a Skagosi drove his spear through the back of her knee, pinning her now destroyed kneecap to the sand. She cried out, and a hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head down and forward as Daimhín, the man holding her hair, stepped in front of her. The Stark stepped to her side and before she could panic and struggle, Longclaw came down on her neck, severing it from her shoulders. After Jon had executed the final Greyjoy, and probably the last Ironborn known to man save for random stragglers out in the world, his men cheered. Then, the roar of the dragon reminded them that the fight was not quite over. The king whistled as all the men glared at the dragon heading for Kingshouse. Cadeyrn rode up next to Jon, and he hopped on to his mount, looking at his second in command.

"Secure the ships and keep a look out for reinforcements, if I'm not back in a few hours, send men up to check on me. I'm off to kill a dragon," Jon told him, riding off before his friend had even nodded.

Jon rode up the rocky path that was littered with bodies, the blood being washed away by the rain. He rode up the trail, then through the goat trails and down the road that led to Kingshouse, the few subjects of his he passed shouting for him, in motivation and in excitement. Several children started to chase after him, to witness the slaying of the beast that had flown over head, but their mothers were quick to stop them.

When Jon finally rode in to view of Kingshouse, he saw the watchtower over the Ribcage Bridge on fire, and the dragon not far from it. It was in front of the watchtower, prepared to breathe fire down on the men on the bridge as they hustled to move women and children inside the keep. Jon gripped Icicle, dropping off his horse next to Ghost and aiming. He took several steps forward, and aimed high, throwing the spear with all of his might so that it flew straight and true, lodging itself deep in to the dragon's underbelly.

Rhaegal roared and flew higher, circling. Jon slapped Cadeyrn on the backside and pointed at the keep while looking at Ghost. They both set off full speed, galloping and running towards Kingshouse as Jon unsheathed Longclaw and grabbed his shield. Stark stepped in to the river Emer, his feet planted firmly in one of the shallow fords found throughout the river. The dragon, great and green and bronze, nearly the same size as Aodhfin must have been, shook in the air, managing to shake the white spear out and leave it further towards Kingshouse before he hit the ground, landing front of Jon and shaking the area.

Jon wasted no time, running in towards the dragon with his soaked shield high and his sword level and steady. The dragon snapped at him, and Jon jumped, landing in a roll, to the side. When Jon regained his footing, he was forced to jump back the other way, as the dragon chomped at him again. When he did it again, the dragon made the mistake of raising high up to lunge downward, and Jon rolled underneath the giant neck, running his blade deep in to it for as long as he could. The beast reacted, rearing up and roaring at the Valyrian steel made gash. When his head came back down, Jon smacked the nose of the dragon with the edge of his shield, then bashed it with the front. The dragon bled and roared, opening his mouth and biting quickly. Jon jumped back, dodging. He spun around, dodging the next lunge and slashing his blade across the jaw of the great beast. They danced back and forth in the ford several more times. Jon jumped in, too cocky, and turned sideways, only for Rhaegal to bite out, lunging hard. The Stark managed not to get caught by the larger teeth, but was definitely caught by the smaller ones as the dragon teeth punctured the armor and then the body, cutting Jon wide open. Jon slashed at the nose, injuring it again and forcing the dragon to open wider, allowing Jon to push himself out. Then, the dragon was back on the attack.

Jon reacted fast enough to save his arm, but the shield was ripped from him nonetheless. He gripped Dawn and ripped it out, attempting to run around the head to the neck in order to finish the fight. The dragon had a different idea, smacking Jon with his maw, sending the man flying.

When Jon hit the water in a deeper part than he had been in, he had trouble rising, but when he got his head above the water, he saw the dragon approaching, jaws opened wide and flames building in it's throat. Jon ducked and used the water plants and heavy rocks to pull himself under and along when the dragon let loose it's great stream of fire. It encased the area, steaming the place and turning it hot as the water bubbled and boiled, dissipating quick as it came in. Jon ignored the heat as the hot water turned his skin red, though it did little else where he was at. And just like Aodhfin and Liam, the dragon was lost in the mist, Jon waiting for the beast in it.

Jon reversed his grip on his swords, just as Rhaegal came near, smelling and looking, trying to find him. Then, there was a voice and Rhaegal turned to face Kingshouse towards the beasts right, Jon unknowingly to his left.

"Father!" Jon II yelled as he ran towards the dragon with a small sword in his hands, thinking his father dead, foolishly brave in his quest to obtain vengeance. Before Rhaegal had time to decide whether to chase the boy or turn back to his prey, Jon shot out of the water, breathless and breastplate off, in the stream. Rhaegal turned, startled, and Dawn slammed deep in to his eye, permanently blinding him. Before he could react, Jon was on his snout, holding on as the dragon reared up and roared, blowing fire in to the sky. When he came back down, Longclaw moved, slashing across the beasts right eye. Rhaegal roared, blowing fire straight in front of himself. Jon gripped Longclaw, crawling on top of the beasts skull and gripping it's scales as it attempted to shake and throw him off.

After a minute of shaking, the dragon decided to roll through the water, but Jon held. When the beast finally stopped, emerging from the waters, Jon sat up, gripping Longclaw point down with both hands. He postured up, picking up the blade and driving it down, through the lowest part of the slope that was the top of the dragon's head. The dragon whimpered, sounding like a frightened animal, before it lay still, no longer moving. He ripped out Longclaw and slid off the skull, gripping Dawn and falling in to the water. He sat there in the shallows, next to the road, with his blades in his hands and the bloody and dirty water surrounding him as the crimson poured from his wounds and out of his armor freely. His son, Jon, ran up, holding his father's shield, attempting to hand it to him. Jon grabbed his son, sitting his eldest child down next to him as Ghost ran up with Icicle in his jaws, laying next to his injured master. Jon removed his helms and sat it in between his legs.

"Good boys, both of you," Jon stated, and his son was slightly shocked. His father wasn't hateful towards them, but he was definitely a harder man after their fifth nameday. He stopped treating them like kids, and expected them to try to be men, and it showed in his attitude.

"Your mother would be proud of you, Jon," The king spoke to the first Prince of Skagos, running his hands through his sons hair. "She'd be proud."

- **Linebreak** -

Daenerys was incredibly worried. There had been no word from her Ironborn in Skagos, or of Rhaegal who she had sent with them. There was no way there could have been any danger to her child, he was a dragon after all. But, there was always the pessimistic voice in her head saying otherwise. Then, there was Tyrion, who had been angrier, impatient, more moody with her recently. She knew it was because Tyrion believed her actions in Blackwater Bay had earned them all a death sentence, but she knew that even direwolves burned like men. She sat in the Iron Throne now, though there was only King's Landing under her control as of yet, King Gendry fighting her every step of the way.

"Your Grace," A man spoke, a messenger entering the throne room. Her councilors stared at him as he came forward, scratched and torn, bruised and bloodied most likely from the streets of the city as the people still fought her men every step of the way, angry with the foreign invader taking their homes from a good and righteous king.

"Yes, my good ser?" Dany asked, her crown on her head feeling even heavier than usual.

"Word has reached us from both Highgarden and Skagos," He stated, shaking as he pulled out two scrolls and two men carried in a chest between them, trailing after the messenger. Dany raised her eyebrow, curious as to the chest and why her men would send it to her.

"Well, what do they say?" Dany asked.

"It would appear that upon his return to Highgarden, King Garlan's wounds from the Wildlings festered. King Loras sends word that he is coming to King's Landing, in order to bend the knee," The man told her, handing the scroll to Jorah who handed it to her. It read as he stated, and she was immensely pleased. The most fertile of the kingdoms, and one of the most populous. Then, she motioned at the messenger to continue. He paled, and started to shake again. He held the scroll out to Jorah who grabbed it, reading it quickly. He paled as well, looking as white as a ghost, before he threw the scroll down to Dany's feet and stormed towards the chest. When he reached it, he unlocked the lid and threw it back, pausing as he looked inside.

When Jorah reached in and pulled out Euron's head, Daenerys had a feeling there would be two more. She was right, and the heads of Theon and Asha soon found their way next to their uncle's before the steps of the Iron Throne. Then, Jorah reached in again, and Dany's breath caught in her throat. In his hands was a green and bronze scale larger than one hand, and when he dropped that he grabbed a tooth, almost as large as his entire arm. He looked at her, and she sat, paralyzed. Tyrion grabbed the scroll and read it aloud.

"Your squids and your dragon came Skagos to bring death, but they found it instead. My son and his men fell on yours on the shores of Kingshouse, and after he reaped the souls of the Greyjoy cravens, he fell on your beast in the River Emer. Though it lost him his armor, my son has made a finer set from the corpse of the creature he single-handedly slew in the streams. It's green and bronze carcass lay in our hall. By Land or By Sea, By Steel and By Blood, Skagos shall reign victorious. Ashara Dayne, Mother of the Thirsty Wolf who is King of Skagos, Lord of Kingshouse, the Gods Chosen, Defender of the Old Ways, and Slayer of Rhaegal," Tyrion announced, the scroll heavier in his hand than anything else had ever been. He looked up and at his queen, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the only remains of one of her children that the savages had allowed to be returned to her. A sob escaped her throat, and the messenger left at the glare sent by Jorah, followed by his two men.

"I'll burn them all!" She screamed.

- **Linebreak** -

Jon stood on the balcony of his room in the palace of Kingshouse, feeling the wind rush by him as the sound of his children playing on his bed and in his room filled his ears, the sight of the lights of twilight and the aurora borealis filling Jon with nostalgia. He was comfortable in his new armor. It was his steel armor, but thinned a bit, only enough to give the actual armor it's shape rather than anything else. In the same shape, over the steel armor which acted as a frame, was the molded and shaped bones of Rhaegal the green dragon, runes carved in to the dense and incredibly tough bone. Valyrian steel had managed to do it, but regular steel could barely make a mark. He had his swords on his back, his shield as well, the still steel but bone covered bracers and shin protection weighing lightly on Jon. His helm in between his left arm and hip remained unchanged, no bone added to it. He heard his son Skulgarth laugh and his daughter Ashara giggle as his mother Ashara tickled them, Jon II jumping around the room with a wooden sword, pretending to be Liam or Jon himself, possibly. The king of slayers smiled, turning around to join his family.


	18. Chapter 18: Burn In Hell

**So. Wussup? How's it goin'? Just wanted to say, I don't hate Daenerys at all. I like her, but I get frustrated with her self-righteousness and her cunty attitude about her family and especially how she thinks of the Starks just because of their getting justice in Robert's Rebellion. Like, she admits her dad sucked, and that Rhaegar did scumbag shit, but she still hates the Starks, which pisses me off thoroughly, and the frustration built up in me, which is why this is happening the way it is.**

 **To my man woLfkinG (guest): Thanks. No worries, I know I always sound salty as fuck when I respond to the critics of this story, but I'm dyin' laughin' whenever I'm typin' them. Like the million monkey million typewriter line. I wish that guest would have an account, because that's a fire ass roast.**

 **To my man Lance (guest): Thank you sir. (::).**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 18: Burn In Hell**

The dim light of Duskwallow outlined the every moment made by the men on Omyw beach. And the boys. Majority of Stannis's forces were the young men of Duskwallow that had been left behind by the Skagosi they feared and hated. They truly were boys, however, having been born in or near a rich city such as Duskwallow. Most were twelve to sixteen, men by Skagosi standards, though they had not faced half the trials their warrior counterparts had. Stannis didn't care. What he knew was that his few thousand men left after the Battle of the Blackwater had trained these thousands and thousands well. That was what was necessary. No more, no less.

The system of vines and roots growing over the gray ruins of the once great city had yet to be removed, the Baratheon king unwilling to waste time or resources on rebuilding a city he had no intention to stay in. The fair skinned people of Lorath had proven useful to the last old stag as he regrouped there, though the washing women and farmers who aided Stannis would be less than pleased if they realized he would be taking their brothers back to his own lands to fight the very menace that had destroyed them once. Though Jon Stark had truly done his job well, almost no adults being left to lead the children that ran their society.

Stannis had found the name Duskwallow to be appropriate for his situation, what with being Azor Ahai, the chosen of the Lord of Light, and after his defeat, resting in a place with a name meaning wallowing in dusk, a time of great darkness. In front of the city of darkness, Stannis and his men herded the fifteen thousand able bodied and decently aged boys they had found on to the ships they had built, the midnight light offering every concealment for the group as their stealthy deed took the land by storm, subtly and unknowingly sentencing the entire land to near death. Westeros was in their sights, and there would be no leaving it this time.

- **Linebreak** -

Dany sat atop Drogon, watching as the battle unfolded before her in between Bronzegate and Haystack Hall in the Stormlands. When she had entered the Kingswood, King Gendry called his banners to him, and when she took Bronzegate, he marched on her. They met in the fields between the two holds in the heart of King Gendry's kingdom, only a week after she had taken King's Landing. He had the superior numbers, and no doubt the superior will, considering the Unsullied were not known for having great heart, and the Stormlanders were fighting for their home.

She spotted King Gendry himself, his great antlered helm so dark it seemed to absorb the light around him, the darkness in the night centering around him. In his hands was Fury, the great warhammer, and he swung it, sending Dany's men flying left and right. Out of all the Eight, Gendry was the largest and strongest, but Dany knew when it came down to the most dangerous, he was third, most likely. The Grizzled Lion, Jaime Lannister who had killed her father, was number two. The Thirsty Wolf, Jon Stark, who had slain her son Rhaegal was more dangerous than the other two, perhaps even combined, on a great day.

Gendry Baratheon, formerly Waters, smashed his way through the first Unsullied lines, jumping back to dodge the spears before swinging his hammer at the eunuch who had attempted to fill the gap. When the skull caved in from under the spiked helmet, it gave a sickening crunch, though Gendry gave it no mind and grinned, feeling the blood rushing through him freely. He was his father's son, truly. His men charged in to the infamous infantry lines, many being impaled on spears, only for another man to charge in but a split second after, bypassing the occupied wood and steel spike and crashing in to the shields, the larger Westerosi putting immense pressure on the smaller Unsullied. Though many fell to the spears, Gendry felt as though the battle was being won, and whether it wanted to be admitted or not, the war would be if he was victorious. If the Unsullied fell now, the Dothraki and sellswords would break.

Gendry turned, dodging a spear and swinging Fury upward, caving the skull in from the chin. He ripped it out of the now deformed head, swinging downward. Utilizing his superior natural length and 6'9" height, collapsing an Unsullied's shield and shattering the arm underneath it. Then, when he jumped back and one of his men took his spot, allowing him to analyze the battle, he heard the horn.

It was higher pitched than most, loud and bright sounding, like something out of some knightly tale of chivalry and valor. When Gendry turned, he spotted the Golden Rose of Tyrell on the white banners, the shining, armored knights on horseback with lances and swords, a flashing brigade come to smash the enemy. At the front was Loras in his golden rose armor, which was weird. Why was Garlan not leading the men? Deciding it must have been for strategic value, in order for Garlan to flank the Unsullied another way, Gendry laughed, holding Fury out towards the Reachmen in a salute. Then, the bright contingent slammed in to his men.

Stormlander chests gave way under Reach lances, and Storm's End faces split upon Highgarden longswords. A crash resounded as one side met another, traitor on nationalist, and Viserion, the cream and gold serpent without a rider, landed amongst a group of Gendry's own men attempting to outflank the Highgarden backstabbers. That is where he would go, Gendry decided.

The Baratheon king worked his way through his own crowd of men, drawing fear and nervousness from them at the thought of their warrior king fleeing until they saw his intended destination. The might of the Stormlands yelled, various war cries sounding out as they fought on with renewed vigor. Gendry arrived at the great snake. When Viserion turned to meet the Stag King, he instead met the warhammer Fury, which drove in to his jaw and one tooth. The tooth was knocked out and the force threw the head a bit, as the winged beast recoiled in pain. The man in the antlered helm swung again, down on to the nose of the beast, a crack being heard as he possibly broke a piece of the bone. He swung it back, spinning in reverse as it came up in an uppercut, hitting the chin of the wearied beast that was already most assuredly tired from battle. When it's head rose, Fury met Viserion's neck, and the beast turned, attempting to scamper away and regroup. That is when the other dragon, Drogon, and the horses of a hundred Highgarden cravens surrounded him, circling him.

"Come on you bloody cunts! I'll fucking take all of you," Gendry yelled, dropping the warhammer head to the ground, his right hand still on the shaft of it as his left hand beat his chest, yelling an indiscernible and primal roar towards his foes.

"Lord Loras, would you so kindly explain to the Storm lord why he has been defeated?" Dany spoke form atop her dragon.

"My brother, Garlan, was valiant, but a fool, and after his death, we joined the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the Queen Targaryen. You have been outwitted, out fought, and outmatched. Lower your hammer, Lord Gendry, and kneel," Loras the pretty coward announced.

"You fucking mental eunuch! I am King of these lands, and if they lose their freedom, than I shall have to die!" Gendry roared, holding the hammer towards Loras in a threatening manner.

"What about your wife and child? Should they have to die?" Daenerys asked from atop her black beast. "You need not kneel, but if you do not surrender, the Lady Arya and the little Lord Steffon will burn. Viserion!" The white and gold snake flew in to the air, prepared to travel to Storm's End to set it ablaze.

Tears came to his eyes as Gendry realized he was defeated. There was no way to escape from this. Fury's shaft hit the ground right after the iron head thudded against it, and the antlered helm soon followed. The proud king, now devoid of independence, dropped to his knees, staring up at the dragon queen before him.

"You have my surrender, but know this. The Dark Stag may lie down to save it's home, but others will not. The Thirsty Wolf will never stop, it does not forget, it does not forgive. Jon Stark will take your head, Dragon Bitch, and your serpents' souls, if they do have them," Gendry promised before something extremely solid hit the back of his head, and he was out.

- **Linebreak** -

Alayaya's, tight, dark brown ass shook and jiggled as Jon's cock drove in to her snatch, it gripping his rod like life depended on it. Her mouth was an open o, having never bedded a man who was so well endowed and savage at the same time. His hand came down across her rump, the tight right cheek turning red as the hand struck it intensely. He gripped her hair with the other hand, pulling her hair up and back so she was tight, coiled up as she stared in to the mirror to watch herself be ravaged by the Wolf King's fuckstick. Drool came from her mouth a little, unable to control herself as she hit her largest orgasm yet, her fourth so far. After she had finished clenching around him, she was unable to hold herself up anymore, Jon doing that by gripping her waist and hair. Jon let her go from his grasp, falling on her face and stomach in ecstasy. Jon moved to his right, positioning behind Dancy, the pug-nosed and redheaded girl that had been the first to come North with Alayaya.

Dancy's ass was not as tight as Alayaya's, nor as big as Arianne's had been, but it was large, fat in a perfect way, with good hips. Her fingers, formerly in her cunt, moved to her mouth in order for her to taste her orgasm juices and Jon's left over precum from earlier as Jon moved behind her for the fourth time, having taken a turn with each whore. He lined up his cock with her core as she sucked on her fingers, the side of her face pressed against the mattress and looking back at him. When he speared in to her, she cried out. He was kind enough to let her adjust for a second, she thought. In fact, the pause was only so Jon could re-position, putting a hand against the side of the freckled girl's head and pushing her face further in to the bed as he hammered home at her g-spot, using his own force and gravity to add the force to it. The only thing keeping her from falling on her stomach was the angle of her legs and knees being to sharp, just pushing her further in to her legs. He thrust in to her, in then out, at a lightning quick speed, his right hand on her head and his left gripping her left hip rough enough to leave bruises. After a minute or two, Alayaya moved beneath her, positioning so that Dancy's face was being pressed in to the darker girl's pink pussy, and her own clit was being licked by the Summer Islander, who was also attempting to suck and lick Jon's balls every time he thrust back in to the lighter prostitute.

Dancy clenched around him, screaming in to Alayaya's cunt as she came, her walls wringing Jon's cock out. He pulled out, aiming down and thrusting in to Alayaya's mouth, thrusting in and out and downwardly fucking her throat. When his balls finally tightened, he shot seven thick shots in to her mouth, only one being able to be swallowed before the rest overflowed her, spilling out on to her face and some still in her mouth. Dancy managed to turn around, licking the jizz off of her boss's face, and holding it in her mouth as she swapped it with the taller, leaner woman, making out with one another and Jon's seed. Jon himself, no longer interested, cleaned himself off with a cloth from the bed, before he began putting his armor back on to himself, strapping the bone and steel plate in the correct places.

By the time Jon was fully dressed in his armor, the two girls had swallowed his seed, done with their show. Jon looked at them, and they smiled, making Jon almost feel bad, at least in Dancy's case, as he nodded at them, placing a small purse of coins on the dresser for them. He always left enough to pay for two and a half days, knowing full well he was usually as rough as to prevent them from earning any significant amount of coin for that long, at least. He grabbed his weapons, slinging them on and exiting, closing the door behind him. He knew Dancy was hopeful. The Skagosi were as open about love as the Dornish, and a king marrying a whore wouldn't be too weird, especially since the king's wife was dead and he had seemed to take a particular interest in that certain whore. When in truth, Jon just preferred to not have to break in a new girl too many times, opting to stay with the two who were most used to it, meaning usually Dancy since Alayaya was also the mistress of the brothel, and had many responsibilities besides sex.

Jon left the brothel, exiting out in to the world's bright lights as the sailors made way for the King of Skagos to walk towards his horse. It had become a known fact amongst seafarers that while the Bloody Bay was ever growing and every bit as fun as other ports, part of the reason why that was so was because Skagosi guards didn't come to break up fights between men or throw those men in the stockades. However, Skagosi went to the other, not only fighting but killing like some Northern and slightly more civilized Dothraki. The King of Skagos was widely known for picking fights with men in his way, and no sailor wanted to be caught in a fight with the man in the bone armor and bone crown.

A man approached Jon several feet before he had reached Cadeyrn, his slightly sad slightly smiling face already suspicious. The man grew closer as his hand reached in to his cloak's sleeve.

"I am so sorry," The man whispered, and Jon's eyes widened. A Sorrowful Man. Jon leaned back, just in time to dodge the swipe of the poison covered dagger. The Stark gripped Northwind, ripping it out and in a reversed grip with the edge out in front of him. He backed up slightly as the assassin jumped forward, and Jon dodged once more, opening a slash along the man's cheek before kicking him in to the wall. Before the assassin could recover, Northwind was flying through the air, entering the windpipe of the short Qarth man. His eyes widened, and his body scraped down the wall, slumping in to a ball against the wall and floor. When Jon approached, he quickly brought Longclaw out in a way that it was slashing immediately, opening the skull of the body which didn't even budge. Jon retrieved his knife, placing his blades back in to their sheaths. He grabbed the dagger in the man's hands, looking closely at the pommel. A dragon. The Targaryens liked to hire assassin's it would seem.

- **Linebreak** -

The gray stones and stony expression of Dragonstone were bleak to most, unexciting. But to Jon, it was pleasant. Not in the sense that it itself made him happy, rather, the idea made him happy. There were few joys greater in life than making a stoic man bleed and scream.

The sellswords lining the shores of the ancient ancestral home of the Targaryens seemed anything but the stern men that came to mind, such as Stannis Baratheon or Aegon the Conqueror. No, they seemed ragtag, no more disciplined than the next group of sellswords. So, they were not the Golden Company. Their banner was four crows between crossed bolts of lightning on white. Their leader, a blue haired, blue eyed, gold mustached, blue bearded bastard with an arakh and a dagger dressed in loud colors waits behind the sellswords on the shore, all five-hundred of them. The Skagosi numbered as much. Five-hundred men, The Bloody Cavalry, as the other Skagosi called them. The only five hundred Skagosi to come back from the Wildling North.

Due to word they had received from a captured traitor by the fingers, Jon's rage had only grown further. The Targaryen had threatened to burn his sister Arya, and his nephew Steffon, forcing Jon's good-brother Gendry to submit. The alternative was not an option. The other twenty-thousand Skagosi who had left Bloody Isles towards war were raiding and burning along the mainland, as the Crownlands and Dragonstone's lands, much like the traitorous craven Loras Tyrell, had declared wholeheartedly for Daenerys. Even the little Lord Bar Emmon had forgotten how his city had burned and bled the last time the Skagosi felt the need to make it so. And Jon wasn't even angry at them then. Duskendale, Rosby, Sharp Point, Stonedance, Rook's Rest, all would die in their sleep or awake as Daenerys moved onward to the Riverlands and Westerlands and Jon liberated the Stormlands. The Stone Fleet would move around Dorne and light the Reach from the Arbor to Old Oak, from Blackcrown to the Grassy Vale. Of course, in between now and then, there was the death that was to be brought upon King's Landing as well.

The fifteen ships containing the Bloody Cavalry hit the shore, the greatest five-hundred warriors the Lands of Always War had to offer. They opted to leave their ships on board as they vaulted on to the rocks and sand, axes and swords in hand. The two rugged forces met barely above the waves.

The first man to fall fell to the flying Icicle, puncturing his breastplate as well as his left lung. By the time he had hit the ground, Jon's shield, commonly referred to as the Small Wall due to it's seemingly magical and extreme ability to protect Jon, was up and Longclaw was out. An axe hit the shield, and Jon's sword flashed out, catching the man before he could retract the axe, slicing him open from bicep to tricep, the arm falling from the body as easily as water separates. Before it had even hit the ground, Longclaw had come back across his neck, leaving a red smile from ear to ear. Jon kicked the body in to the next man, both men hitting the ground. Jon thrust his blade through the hearts of both, pinning both to the sand. He ducked a swipe by the next man, slamming the Small Wall in to his face and gripping Longclaw, dragging the sword in behind him while pushing the dead man through the crowd of sellswords. When they finally exited the back of the company, Jon was forced to roll, leaving his shield stuck in the head of the spasming corpse.

Jon looked up, ducking back to avoid another shot by the blue haired Tyroshi cunt who was the leader of the sorry lot. His arakh and stiletto, both fine steel with gold, naked women pommels, looked deadly, but would have been more so if they actually had tasted any Skagosi blood. Opting to leave Dawn out of the mix, Jon gripped Northwind with his left hand, to see who was better in this style, he or the blue bastard.

"So you're the Wolf cunt we all hear so much about from the Imp," The Tyroshi stated. "I am Daario Naharis. They will know the name after I've killed you." The arrogant bastard bowed before stepping towards Jon. The arakh went towards Jon's head, and he ducked, only to have to dodge the Myrish stiletto aimed at his face. He dodged the next strike, which came towards his groin, only for the stiletto to graze by, cutting open a scratch on his lower lip, from chin to lip. Jon growled and surged forward, kicking back the blue fuck, lashing out with Longclaw. The Tyroshi dodged, blocking Jon's left leg front kick with his chin and hitting his ass. He rose, glaring, and charged at the same time as Jon, both meeting in the middle. Longclaw met the arakh, and they came apart, then the tow met again, and being as like-minded as they were, the two pulled each other in close. The swords were in between them, and Jon leaned back, barely dodging the stiletto. Northwind came forward, his fist connecting with the older man's jaw as the dagger cut open his neck on the side. Daario stumbled back, returning Jon's wolf stare with his own venomous glare. The two met again, only Daario grew cocky. The arakh came out, and Longclaw came out, both going with fairly high force. Jon aimed, and so when the swords met, Longclaw broke through, lodging itself five inches deep in Naharis's ribs. He stared, shocked at the blade inside him, before the knife Northwind plunged up, under his chin, in to his head, the blade visible in the open mouth.

Stark ripped the blades out, cleaning them off on his cloak as the corpse hit the ground, the Skagosi picking apart the dead sellswords.

"Jon!" Jon yelled for the Smalljon. "Take this fool's head, would you? I know a queen I'd like to send it to." Smalljon smiled, walking over with Steele, glinting in the light, covered in crimson.

"Aye, it'd be my honor," Smalljon answered, smiling. Jon turned to Daimhín.

"When we get to King's Landing, remember. More wildfire. We'll come back for this particular castle later." The first mate nodded and Jon turned as the Skagosi men rushed inland to burn the island.

- **Linebreak** -

The city of King's Landing, half burnt and half shining, had fallen upon hard times. Whereas it's four years under Gendry had seen it renewed and cleaned, the half a year under Daenerys had left it partly burnt black to a crisp and as poor as it had been during Robert Baratheon. The fact that Daenerys had taken her Unsullied to war and left the Windblown mercenary company in charge of the city and it's people, as well as it's charges, the Baratheon family, didn't help whatsoever. The Tattered Prince would be there, somehow still alive. Word was, Jorah Mormont was there as well, watching over Jon's sister, good-brother, and nephew. Whether or not there was truth to that statement was yet to be seen, but soon, these questions would be answered.

The _Seawolf_ landed along with the _Watergiant_ and the nearly five-hundred men with them right outside the River Gate, hitting the docks and hitting the decks with their shields to defend against the arrows from the walls. However, before the second barrage could come for the raiders, five-hundred more Skagosi came flying down Rosby Road towards the Iron Gate after having put Rosby to the sword, and another five hundred flew towards the Dragon Gate, these five-hundred having been the men to put Sow's Horn to the torch. Immediately, the crowd of sellswords on the wall spread thin, others moving to protect the other gates.

The Windblown still numbered more than the Skagosi, presumably, but Lightning War was an extremely useful tool. The arrows from the archers behind Jon covered his advance, the flying feathered shafts striking several sellswords, though they were mostly smart enough to duck behind the ramparts. Jon and his men raced forward, sprinting towards the walls as their comrades unleashed volley after volley in to the crowd of mercenaries. They were nearly at the wall with their grappling hooks when all of a sudden, the gates flew open. Expecting a counter assault, Jon stopped, reaching to unsling his shield, Icicle already in hand. Instead, the gates opened to a dozen hungry looking farmer and merchant seeming fellows. Behind them was another two dozen men, dead, littered around the pitchfork and knife covered corpses of a dozen or so sellswords. Suddenly, the men, not ten yards from Jon and his men, were fell upon by more sellswords, many running from the walls to the gates.

Jon threw Icicle, piercing the torso of an armored sellsword about to cut down one of the men hurrying to keep the gates open long enough for the approaching Skagosi to enter. By the time Jon and his front-runners reached the gates, the last man assisting the liberation of King's Landing at the River Gate was being cut down. His death did not go in vain, as when his killer looked up, his sword still in the starving man's stomach, he came face to face with the famed Longclaw, which cut him from nose to spinal cord. The next man had his sword knocked down, nearly out of his grasp by the Northern Valyrian steel longsword, his head being knocked from the rest of his body by it's Southern counterpart, Dawn. The Smalljon came in roaring, all of 7'2" smashing through a group of several men, swinging Steele as if it was no more than his own fists.

The warriors of Skagos fought their way through the thickening sellsword crowd, though soon enough a mob of angry smallfolk approached the company from their rear, makeshift spears, pitchforks and knives at the ready. The contingent of the company was far too outnumbered, as well as outmatched by the Skagosi, to put up too much of a fight, and soon they all lay dying. Jon whistled, Cadeyrn and a blood covered Ghost racing up to him. He mounted the warhorse, taking off at a speed towards the Red Keep. As he passed by the buildings and turned the turns he needed to, he witnessed the wrath of the people of the city, as well as the Skagosi. He passed by several mobs of people tearing men of the Windblown apart with their bare hands, he saw several prostitutes with bruised faces taking turns stabbing a dark haired man in the colors of the Windblown, purple and white. He passed by the corpse of the late Tattered Prince who was nailed to a wall by a dark arrow in his neck, a sign that Lachtín had been this way.

When Jon finally hit the castle, he vaulted from his steed, his direwolf close behind him. He rushed in through the wide open doors, longswords dripping in blood and the crimson liquid splattered across his helm. Hearing noises towards the throne room, that's where Jon decided to go. When he reached the doors, he noticed a small group of armor clad men being lain to waste by a group of angry peasants with knives and rocks. Many of them had died, but the knights would surely die all the same. Deciding he had better chores to attend to, Jon burst through the doors, first noticing Gendry, Arya, and Steffon on the steps to the Iron Throne, in shackles. In front of them was an older, grizzled man, looking to be about Jon's father's age. He was in full armor, in his hands a longsword, and on his armor a surcoat of a black bear on green trees. Mormont.

"So, Jorah Mormont, a slaver AND unfaithful," Jon growled out, beginning his prowl towards his nearest target. Jorah naturally eyed the younger man, weary, before his eyes drifted down and stopped at the sight of Longclaw, though it's pommel was wolf rather than bear, as when he had last seen it.

"That sword..." Jorah started. "It looks familiar."

"Aye, your father gave me this sword near a decade ago. Replaced the pommel, but the sword's the same," Jon admitted, staring expectantly at Jorah. The man's eyes hardened, his back stiffening. He held his sword out, pointing it at Jon.

"So I had heard. I had not believed," Jorah replied, his tone bitter. "So my father saw fit to grant the blade to a monster."

"Better a monster than a slaver and traitor," Jon spat back. "Come, Jorah, taste your father's blade, and die in the service of the bitch who would see your homeland burn."

"Gladly," Jorah said, eyes narrowing. He stepped forward, throwing an experimental slash at Jon. Jon knocked it aside, pretending to go for a side kick. When Jorah brought his sword down where the leg was meant to be, Dawn lashed out across his cheek. The older man was slower, in his age and his armor, and was not as strong as Jon anymore. He would have to rely on decades of experience to win this. Hastily picking the blade tip from the ground, he jabbed at the Stark who merely spun away. He charged in, thrusting. Jon spun away again, placing Dawn in it's scabbard. When the sword came down at Jon's head, he stepped to the side, letting the longsword sail past him to the ground. Jon's left hook rocked Jorah, connecting solidly with his jaw. Jorah came back, thrusting at Jon again. Jon side stepped again, this time turning and pivoting, so that because of Jorah's inability to stop his movement forward, his momentum carried him directly in to a vicious roundhouse, knocking him to his knees.

Jorah rolled from the strike that followed, struggling to rise to his feet in his armor with his head swimming after the bone and steel covered shin had struck him so bluntly. He finally regained his footing, though still unsteady, and barely had the time to react at all to the boot connecting with his breastplate. He managed to jump back enough to remain uninjured, however, it still knocked him on to his ass. He rose to his feet, temper flaring as he charged Jon again. Jon ducked, dodging a swipe, and dropped to the ground to avoid the random flailing foot that came his way. He jumped, swinging Longclaw to intercept the longsword coming at him. As their blades were locked, Jon brought them down to chest level, and he spat in Jorah's eyes. He jumped back, watching as the Mormont traitor wiped at it, opening his eyes to glare furiously at the younger man. He swung from his left hip, and Jon jumped back. Jorah swung from his right him, and Jon jumped back again. Mormont came in with an enormous thrust once more, and Jon merely twisted his body to miss it, landing another hook across the other man's jaw. Jorah stumbled momentarily before returning to the attack.

Jon jumped back and forth, always just out of reach, and Jorah grew overly angered, deciding one gigantic downward swipe would take care of the problem. Instead, as the sword came down, Jon moved to his right side and swung Longclaw down with it, angling over the other blade so that when it stopped, it buried itself in Mormont's right foot. The Bear's sword dropped as Jon ripped the sword out, and Jon's boot on the back of his knee forced Jorah to his knees. The Dragon Bitch's warrior opened his mouth to speak before Jon gripped his hair on his scalp, picking Longclaw up to be angled in between his own left hip and Jorah's neck. As quick as he had raised it, Jon drew it across the throat in a deep, gruesome, long movement, digging the blade in as he pulled it across, cutting Jorah from jugular to spinal cord.

Jorah's blood, a deep red same as any other man's, poured out on to the floor as Jon walked off, not even waiting for the corpse to hit the floor. The pile of flesh and armor crashed in to the ground as Jon approached his sister and her family.

Gendry held out his shackles and Jon swung Longclaw at the weakest link on them, breaking them, doing the same for his sister. They rose, Gendry near snarling and Arya rocking Steffon back and forth. Jon turned, exiting the throne room, the two adults and baby following him. Upon entering the hallways, Gendry raced off, supposedly to get his armor and Fury. Grabbing Arya, Jon led her out of the keep, leaving to the courtyard.

By the time they had entered the courtyard, Gendry had rejoined them, armor in a sack over left shoulder and Fury over right shoulder. Upon stepping out in to the opening, they came face to face with thousands upon thousands of people reveling, holding several body parts of sellswords in the air. Targaryen banners burned, Baratheon and Skagosi Stark banners fluttering proudly in the wind. The bodies of the Skagosi men who had died were being held in to the air, caressed by the crowd of people as they chanted, singing their praises to their Baratheon king and their Skagos liberators. Jon's men, all around, were being crowded and bombarded with thanks and drinks and gifts, smiling and laughing with the very people they had just freed from the chains of a mercenary company and their dragon bitch.

"Skagos! Gendry! Skagos! Gendry!" The crowd cried, and when Jon and Gendry stepped forward, Gendry raising his hand to acknowledge his subjects, the mob roared in approval.

- **Linebreak** -

The _Seawolf_ sailed past Lord Harroway's Town, having already passed Saltpans, the Bloody Cavalry on more ships close behind it, heading down the slightly icy Trident. They had stopped momentarily in Saltpans and had received word on current events. Dragonstone was burnt to a crisp (Jon's work), Gendry was moving through the Stormlands relieving his people from their Targaryen burdens. The Golden Company had landed on the Eastern Coast in support of Daenerys, but due to Dornish reinforcements, had been forced to march through the Crownlands to the West, where the Targaryen queen would give them amnesty for all past Golden Company crimes, as well as lordships.

But, she was having her own problems, the forces of the Riverlands, some of the Westerlands, and a good amount of the North and the Vale were halting her progress. King Robert Arryn assaulted her forces from the Northeast, King Robb and King Edmure fighting toe to toe and taking the brunt of her offensive maneuvers to the North and Northwest, while King Jaime Lannister and his now former ward, the sixteen year old Bran Stark the Green Wolf, led forces to harry hers in the West and partially in the South. Daenerys was settled around the Red Fork, already having burnt through Pinkmaiden, High Heart, and Acorn Hall. Sadly for Westeros, the Second Sons, among several other sellsword companies, had recognized the opportunity in helping Daenerys and had followed the Golden Company, as Skagos, Dorne, the Stormlands, and the North were too well protected to invade. The Trident was a possibility, but they had no idea who was there. So the reinforcements could either go to the Riverlands, or to the Reach, where they would help fight off the Dornish and Westerlands invasions.

When the sun dipped below the not too distant mountains, the Inn of the Kneeling Man, now commonly referred to as the Inn of the Eight Crowns, or the Inn of Peace, came in to view along with the three forces doing battle outside of it.

The inn was on fire, though people rushed to and fro in order to put it out. Amongst the trees and in the clearings on the side of the Inn opposite the river men fought men, a trio of contingents, each one attempting to put the other two to the sword. There was the banners of Targaryen over the heads of multiple Dothraki screamers, their horses gone, useless in this scrap amongst the trees. The other main side were knights and men-at-arms, above their head the silver trout on the blue and red of Tully. Amongst these two, without these banners, were men who looked vaguely like bandits, if there ever was a typical uniform for the position. They were ragtag, with ragtag weapons, fighting Tully and Dothraki all the same, led by a man with a bandage covering his left cheek and eye, among several other scars, as well as a man in red mail, both of their swords being on fire. The Fucking Brotherhood Without Banners.

Jon's warship crashed in to the solid shore of the river, soon followed by Jon and Ghost crashing in to the grassy ground, the still, cold, Winter air nipping at everybody present, unfortunate for all there, save for the Skagosi and therefore the Riverlanders. Upon arrival, Jon witnessed his Uncle Edmure defending desperately against a Dothraki slightly taller than him. The bare chested warrior leading the attack on the Inn wielded a great arakh with the hilt and handle chased in gold. Another Dothraki, fighting his own battle, called to him.

"Rakharo! Look!" The Dothraki pointed at the oncoming Skagosi warriors before his arm was taken off by Beric Dondarrion. He hit the ground as the newly found Rakharo, bloodrider to the Khaleesi Daenerys, dodged Edmure's blow, turning and looking. Edmure did as well, followed by Beric and Thoros. Jon, wishing to waste no time, threw Icicle, lodging it deep in to a Dothraki prepared to cut down a Riverlands knight. Drawing Longclaw and Dawn, he jumped at the closest man, that man being Rakharo, kicking the similar height Dothraki back with a boot to the chest.

Rakharo, angered at the forced backing away, charged forward at Jon, his bells ringing, arakh swinging. Jon leaned back, dodging the curved blade, then straightening up and lashing out with Dawn. Rakharo dodged, and was forced to lean away from Jon's next strike which nearly took his arm off at the shoulder. Dawn came down towards his right knee at a steep angle, and when he pulled his right leg back, leaning forward slightly to even out, Jon's left leg high kick connected with the side of his head, throwing him sideways. Before Jon could rush in to finish the skirmish, the Lightning Lord Beric Dondarrion approached him, his sword strike flailing.

Jon ducked, jabbing out with Longclaw which drew blood from Beric's cheek. By the time Jon had postured up, Rakharo was back on his feet, becoming the third man in the fight for dominance over the battle as Edmure rallied the Riverlanders around the Skagosi reinforcements.

Jon swept aside a thrust from Beric, leaned back to avoid a swipe from Rakharo, turning sideways to dodge the next downward swing from Dondarrion, and dropping low to narrowly miss the decapitating slash from the Dothraki bloodrider. Jon jumped back, out of reach of both men, spinning Longclaw and Dawn in his hands, regaining his grip and catching his breath while analyzing his oncoming foes. Beric leapt in with a beautiful jab, but Jon went under it, thrusting Dawn across Beric's ribs, opening a gash along them. The Stark knocked aside the next slash from Rakharo, lashing out with Longclaw and opening a cut on the bloodrider from mouth to ear. Rakharo spiraled backwards, barely avoiding Dawn as Jon aimed for Rakharo's neck, missing and turning it in to a spin which he used to send a spinning hook kick in to Beric's ribs, directly over the profusely bleeding wound in his mail. Beric stumbled back, clutching his side as Rakharo grabbed his face.

Jon leapt in once more, slashing at Rakharo and meeting the arakh with Longclaw, swinging Dawn from his own left at Rakharo's head. The Dothraki jumped back, stumbling, and Jon was forced to squat quickly to avoid Beric's own swipe. The King of Skagos brought first Dawn then Longclaw back across Beric's body, the former opening a wound on Beric's right ribs, mirroring that on his left ones, and Longclaw came behind it, cutting open a wound higher up, more near the armpit. Both swords raised high after the follow up from the successful strikes, they both came back down, cutting down and along Beric's face, deep enough to hurt and maim though not to kill. Jon kicked the man back, bringing both of his blades around to meet Rakharo's arakh, knocking it out of the way and drawing Jon closer, his elbow smashing in a backhanded manner in to the Dothraki's nose, forcing him back.

Rakharo's arakh shot up, intercepting the oncoming Longclaw. Dawn shot out, smacking the hilt of the arakh and sending it flying from the Eastern warrior's hands. Rakharo gripped the dagger at his waist, ripping it it out in a slash at Jon. The Skagosi warlord, however, merely caught the strike with his right bracer, headbutting Rakharo back. Dawn lashed out, cutting it's way across Rakharo's back from left shoulder to right hip. The bloodrider's back arched as he yelled in pain, turning and thrusting his dagger at Jon. The Stark leaned, placing Longclaw so that it would aim for Rakharo's throat, while picking Dawn up for a downward thrust. When the dagger passed by Jon's head, Dawn drove through Rakharo's arm and in to the ground, dragging the arm and dagger down while also dragging Rakharo himself down, impaling him throat first on to Jon's right longsword. The Dothraki's eyes widened and blood bubbled forth when his mouth opened. Jon merely kicked him away, holding firmly on to his blades as they pulled free from the pushed away corpse. Jon spun around, stalking towards the grounded Beric Dondarrion as Thoros of Myr crouched over his half-dead friend. A slightly large man in a yellow cloak rushed forward, grabbing Thoros and dragging him, pulling at his torso as Thoros attempted to help Beric and the yellow cloaked man eyed Jon fearfully.

Beric was on his knees, blinded in his one good eye by the blood flowing in to it from the gashes along his face, but he heard Jon just fine.

"Get on with it dem…" Before the Lightning Lord could finish his sentence, Longclaw was entering and exiting his neck, separating his righteous head from his righteous body. His bloody and mangled head hit the grassy ground, thudding as the party of men finishing off the remnants of the Dothraki roared in approval. Nodding at the Smalljon as Jon's oldest friend laughed and took the head of Rakharo from it's body, the Stark king stepped forward, sliding his blades in to their scabbards and embracing his laughing uncle.

"By the Gods Jon, just in time, as always. Thought we were done for until you got here. Quite the warriors Daenerys is employing, huh?" Edmure asked, smiling brightly at his nephew.

"Aye, fine fighters, but not even all the Dothraki in the world can save her," Jon replied, grinning with his uncle. "How did this battle come to happen? Where are you going now?""

"We heard the Iron Shield Company was coming up the Trident, so me and some of my men snuck out of Riverrun to ambush them. Apparently, the Targaryen queen decided to send some men to burn the Inn in hopes of sending the message that this alliance of the Kingdoms was no more, same reason she fed Gendry's copy of the treaty to her dragon's flames. We're off, back to Riverrun, especially since I believe you're ships and men will take care of any Iron Shield men if they come down the Trident. Where do you go now nephew?"

"My men, the cavalry, and I are off to raid the dragon bitch's rear flank, draw her back in to the West and hopefully have her follow us in to the Reach. Burn our way along the Tyrell lands, maybe save Jaime's son Tommen while we're at it. Good lad, shame he's stuck with a Tyrell succubus," Jon answered. He whistled, Cadeyrn bounding off of the lead ship and on to the ground, his armor shining slightly as the fires on the Inn died.

"Well then, best of luck to you, nephew," Edmure stated, smiling and gripping his shoulder, "Alright boys, come on, time to get back home!"

- **Linebreak** -

"And so, a toast, to our welcomed friends and guests, King Jon Stark and his Skagosi warriors!" A man in dirty and scratched armor announced, raising his mug over his head to the approval of the crowd of people in Stoney Sept. Jon, for his part, just sat cleansing his blades. The Skagosi had raided along the Targaryen lines, even going so far as to liberate Pinkmaiden, but had turned when the dragon decided to give chase. They had retreated to Stoney Sept, where they would rest and resupply before heading South and West, in order to avoid bringing the dragon in to the Westerlands. Hopefully, if any luck was on their side, the Targaryen bitch would follow them in to the Reach, and forces from the seven faithful kingdoms would fall on them, as well as the few faithfuls among the Reach. House Oakheart had so far been the only house of the Reach to denounce Loras Tyrell, and declare for Independence. If all went well, the Seven true Kings left of Westeros would make the late Lady Oakheart's eldest son Byron the King of the Reach. Currently, Byron and his brothers fought valiantly alongside Jaime and Bran against the traitors of Tyrell.

"What is on your mind, Jon?" Lachtín, one of Jon's closest friends as well as his good-brother asked him, his light blonde hair shining in the fire light.

"Something just doesn't feel right. I feel like there's something we're forgetting, or some mistake we're making," Jon replied as Jon Umber tuned in to their conversation.

"Aye, I feel it too. You don't think Stoney Sept is plotting against us, do you? I mean, after all, the Targaryen cunt didn't burn them," Umber reasoned.

"No, I don't think so. She didn't burn them because it was out of her way and of no significance. She didn't need to burn it, and if she had wasted the time to do so, we'd already have her, and she wouldn't be so close to Riverrun," Jon explained, brow knit in confusion. He couldn't put his finger on it, the sense of foreboding, until the shout interrupted his thoughts.

"DRAGON!" A man on top of the stone wall shouted, pointing off towards the North. Jon jumped from his seat as the entire celebration feast went silent, running past them all and towards the wall through the falling snowflakes. He bounded up the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the top and leaned against the battlements, looking towards Pinkmaiden. Sure enough, against the sky, was a dark shadow, a mass of scales and bones that could hardly be seen. The fire it spewed from it's mouth on to the men in the sparse forest was very visible, however. Drogon. The great black beast came for Jon and his men.

"Positions! Get ready to fight men! The winged serpent Drogon comes for us! I see neither Dothraki nor sellswords, but the dragon approaches nonetheless," Jon yelled, jumping down the stairs of the battlements with several leaps, hitting the ground and rushing to lock Cadeyrn away, safe from the inevitable combat. "Stoney Sept will not burn peacefully!"

By the time Stark, Umber, and Sealgaire had put away their horses among several other steeds in the hall, Drogon was incredibly near, and the three prepared themselves. The men prepared themselves, Umber brandishing Steele, Stark unsheathing and spinning Longclaw and Dawn, and Lachtín testing and drawing his newest bow, a three foot weirwood composite bow that curved in the opposite direction forcing it to be pulled back farther than any bow, with a strong grip and resistant pull, allowing ever more force. On the archers back was his regular quiver of dark arrows, but at his side was a quiver of newly made arrows he had created using old Valyrian steel arrowheads found amongst the Magnar treasury.

Drogon crashed through an entire wall, the enormous beast knocking Skagosi and Southerner men left and right, before grabbing a man from Jon's cavalry in his mouth, flying off with him. The dragon dropped the man from a great height, the sound of the body's impact on the ground echoing amongst the silence. Every archer, save for Lachtín, shot, angry and not realizing the beast would go too high. When the arrows came back down, most landed outside the walls but some fell in, impaling a few men. Drogon's flames were quick behind the arrows, spraying and spreading amongst the me n the town as women and children ran for their lives. Jon and his two best men, the axeman and the archer, fell behind a wall, the thick stone wall protecting them from the centralized stream of heat and destruction, so orange and bright as though it was a line of lava crashing upon the men from the skies. Death from above reigned here. The winged beast moved around, sometimes stopping his flames to recuperate, but all in all spraying everything he could find in fire. The shadows clouded his view from the three Skagosi warlords, and after Drogon had moved past them to a different part of the town, they rolled out of their nook and ran for the hall under it's burning roof. The roof was burnable, the stone of the lower levels of the building would remain fine.

The horses neighed and nearly screeched, spooked when the men entered the hall, but they calmed the steeds and mostly closed the doors, waiting for the black snake to land. They waited a while, letting a Skagosi man in every time one came by, though the dragon continued to burn and murder all throughout Stoney Sept. By the time the streaming fire had ended and Drogon was prepared to land, only eleven men sat amongst the mounts in the hall, including the three lords of Skagos. The rest of the Bloody Cavalry had either been burnt to a crisp or were hiding elsewhere. The ground and every building shook as Daenerys's largest child hit the dirt in the towns square where the earlier celebration had been. It turned it's head, peering, and noticed a small child that had been running towards the hall after seeing a Skagosi man slip inside.

The boy could have been no more than five, and was the only thing in between Jon and Drogon, both about seventy-five yards apart. The boy was halfway in between them, amongst the smoking rubble and ashes of a fallen wall. Drogon began it's way to the boy, picking up speed as it moved, mouth opening wide and displaying the flames it held in store for the lad. When it was near enough it opened it's maw wider, and as the boy cried out, a dark shafted, dark-feathered, Valyrian steel head arrow flew in to it's open jaws, prompting them to shut as the dragon eyed the boy, eyes open in confusion. Another arrow flew from Lachtín's bow and in to the point directly between the beast's eyes as Jon and Smalljon led the charge out of the hall and towards the dragon, supported by a constant stream of arrows from the greatest marksman on Skagos.

Smalljon had the honor of landing the first blow, smashing his axe in to the jaw of the great beast. The second Skagosi to run in was not so lucky as Drogon opened his mouth, snatching the man up and swallowing him whole. Jon was next, slashing both of his blades across the beasts face and jumping out of the way to avoid the counter attack, rolling to the side. Lachtín, now outside of the hall and moving to a better vantage point, fired another arrow, miraculously striking Drogon dead center in his left eye, blinding him. Another Skagosi warrior ran forward, smashing his axe in to Drogon's nose but mistaking himself as well as the dragon when he ducked to avoid the counter attack and was instead crushed when the beast slammed his head down on to the man, paralyzing him. Drogon reared back, shooting his flames in to the unmoving man as well as the man behind him. Jon ran forward from the side along with Smalljon, thrusting his blades deep in to the neck as the giant of a man beside him swung the legendary Steele in to a pot beside the two legendary swords. They retracted their weapons, running to either side of the beast. The horses broke free from the hall, running wildly save for a few.

Drogon roared, showing plainly his disapproval as he stared Jon down, the Smalljon running up to one of the nearby walls on Drogon's right. Jon whipped around both his swords over his head, smacking the dragon across the face with his blades, knocking his face to the side as if he had been splashed with acid. The Valyrian steel cut cleanly through his face again, prompting him further in that direction, and both swords came down, throwing the beast's skull towards the ground as Smalljon reached the top of his wall, throwing himself off and on to the skull of the dragon, using the might of his falling to slam Steele home in to Drogon's head, breaking open the head and pushing past the bones, though not deep enough to hit brains. Drogon yelled a vicious roar, shaking his head and sending Jon Umber flying off, Steele in hands. The dragon nearly whimpered, and looked nearly ready to take off before the five last Skagosi men who weren't lords rushed in, swinging their axes and swords. Jon raced to Cadeyrn, sheathing his blades and ripping Icicle from the side of his saddle. He raced towards the wall on Drogon's left, opposite the one Smalljon had utilized earlier.

Drogon reared back, blasting his fires on to the five furious men before him, melting them almost instantaneously. His right eye shone, but the glee and viciousness in it were focused on the burning of these men who had wounded him, preventing him from noticing the last Valyrian steel arrow flying towards his good eye, piercing it swiftly. Violently, the dragon hit the earthen floor, squirming and spasming in pain and agony. By the time he had stopped and attempted to right himself in order to fly off, Smalljon was upon him, sending his battleaxe in to the beasts jaw and knocking his head towards Jon who leapt from the wall, driving the weirwood spear in to the gap in the skull made by Steele. The dragon roared one last time, halfway through the cry turning in to a whimpering type noise as Jon twisted his spear, wrenching it out of the skull and jumping down on to the ground, Smalljon helping to catch him. Finally, the beast went limp.

Huffing a visible breath out in to the night air, snowflakes falling and covering the shoulders of the Jons as Lachtín joined them, the three men stared at the beast, sitting down in front of it eventually. None said anything, and Lachtín produced a bottle of Skagosi Ale. He took a deep drink from it, passing it to Jon Stark who did the same and passed it to Jon Umber. Eventually, smallfolk from the town along with Skagosi who had herded them to safety entered the square, eyeing the beast and staring at the three men in awe. The three did nothing, they neither acknowledged their looks of awe nor their presence, merely drinking and looking at the slain dragon.

"Dóigh i ifreann, Dragún," Jon stated, condemning the beast in it's last hour.


	19. Chapter 19: Thorn In My Ass, Prick

**Sup? Let's go chapter 19! This one's gon' get fucky. So stay tuned. Oh, and, if anybody is good at drawing, hit me up with info because I'd like to find somebody to draw Jon in a certain way and I suck at drawing.**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 19: Thorn In My Ass, Prick**

Daenerys, tear stains marring her flawless and porcelain face, sat on a small wall of stone in her black dress, well, one of many at least. She had been wearing the color a lot recently, and the only consolation was that the adversary who was causing her to was also being given many reasons to wear the color as well.

Even that was not much of a comfort, however, as no amount feeling, whether it be joy or sorrow, could be detected any more as she sat staring in to the scarred and bloody eyes of her favored son. She loved all three, but they had had roles in a way. If they had been born at different times, it would be said that Drogon was her eldest and Rhaegal was her youngest. Viserion is the only one left, and no amount of saying it could rationalize or actually completely explain it to Daenerys's mind. Her very breath denied the idea that two of her sons had been murdered, but they had. And by one man, though the townsfolk here had all say two other men had helped him slay her largest child. That's what they said, rather, before the sellswords put them to their tools of their trade. Ser Barristan stood behind her, stiff and uncomfortable in a town full of his allies killing people he considered innocent.

"Do you think he will feel my pain, Ser Barristan?" Daenerys asked. She need not say the Devil's name, for when he was spoken of at all, men knew his name and feared it with every fiber of their being.

"I think he's already felt your pain, Your Grace. He felt it at the Burning of the Blackwater, and he has dedicated himself to making you fell the pain he has before he forces you to feel pain even he hasn't," Selmy responded, honest as ever.

"Do you think he will ever stop?" The Targaryen queen asked, tears reforming in her eyes as she reached out her hand towards her child, stopping short of the arrow caused indents in the eyes.

"Not in this life, Your Grace. Though perhaps the next."

"Do you think the Devil can be killed, Ser Barristan?" Dany asked, rubbing the spot on her child's head where three large, black scales had been removed. He shifted in his armor before answering.

"I believe that the monster in the dark, young as he is, knows more about warfare at this point than you or I will learn in a life time. He understands, just as all his kinsmen do, the war is about terror. Taking terror away from the grip of your opponents and reigning it in to use yourself. Not even Viserion commands as much fear as the Devil, Your Grace," Barristan stated.

"But can he be killed?" Dany queried again.

"To kill the Devil, you must not simply kill him, but what he is as well. He can die, but many more will have to die in order to do it."

- **Linebreak** -

Jon's body was numb as he swayed with the movement of the horse. All in all, only fourteen men traveled with the king to Claw Isle, where the _Seawolf_ and it's portion of the Stone Fleet rested. One King moved East, and another moved back North. King Robb Stark's charred, crispy corpse would go back to Winterfell to be put to rest in the crypts. The Prince of the North, little Eddard Stark, was obviously distraught. Then, there was the mother of the King in the North, Lady Catelyn, who's blackened body went with her son. Also, not to mention her brother the possibly late King Edmure Tully. A skirmish had taken his left arm off, and infection could very well claim his life. The young Prince Hoster Tully seemed distraught about that as well.

Jon felt gray. It wasn't black, black was anger, hatred and sadness. It wasn't white, white was joy, carelessness and freedom. Gray. Gray was numb and depression. He wasn't sure if he had merely convinced and deluded himself that he felt nothing over the deaths of some of his family, or if he actually felt nothing. He wasn't sure which one he would rather be true. He wasn't sure which one was worse. The idea of his children in Kingshouse was a brighter light, one that almost cleared the cloudy skies of his mind, but the storm proved superior and reigned supreme.

The whispers that resonated from the Whispers made one or two of Jon's men slightly nervous, he could tell. It could be heard from all the way out here, where they couldn't even see the ancient ruin. It slid and slithered, and seemingly gnawed at one's ears in the way a rat would gnaw at a fine meal. This was a place that had surely driven men insane.

It was only two of the young men from Stoney Sept in the back who were nervous, however. The veterans throughout the group, the oldest, seemed unfazed whatsoever, and Jon Stark, Jon Umber, and Lachtín Sealgaire were completely fine with it. What could whispers do that a dragon could not? Besides speak words within which power was subjective. Suddenly, a twig snapped, not in their group, rather, of to the side. Immediately, the veteran killers of the group reacted by drawing weapons, the younger fumbling slightly for theirs. Before their hands could draw blade, the arrows in their throats drew blood. More arrows followed closely, hitting every man with a regular shield, leaving the three lords left and alone. Men stepped from the shrubbery, swords and axes out and ready. Several were younger, no more than boys. Something was familiar. When further inspecting them, it clicked for the King of Skagos.

"Boys from Lorath," Jon whispered to himself, though it was loud enough for his two brothers to hear. Simultaneously, the three dropped from their saddles, immediately fending off attacks from every side.

Smalljon leaned back, narrowly avoiding an encounter from a spear, though the same could not be said for the boy in front of him where the axe Steele was concerned. It cleaved the thin young man in two right beneath the shoulders. Suddenly, several smaller forces hit him, dragging him to the ground.

Lachtín drew his sword, neither short nor long, and dagger and spun, throwing a lash out with each, connecting with one boy's neck with the smaller blade and air with the larger one. He pushed the dying boy in to the body of the man coming for him, and when they fell, he shoved his sword through the moving head against the ground. Before he could make another move, two men were grabbing his legs and arms, and then more were on him.

Jon blocked one sword with Dawn, then blocked a sword to his right with Longclaw. He brought Longclaw down in a stroke and moved it across the torso of the man he was blocking with Dawn. Jon spun with the move so that he ended behind the nearly dead man, pushing him forward as a shield and jumping up and forward to jab at the other man, piercing his jugular. Jon ducked, dodging another strike and driving both of his swords in to the man who had lunged at him. Sadly, the body dragged the swords to the ground, and he was unable to remove them due to the men jumping on to him. Several hit him, attempting to restrain him, and one came to Jon's face to hit him, most likely to knock him out. Stark moved his head, allowing the club to strike the man behind him before headbutting the man with the club. When the club man's head reared back, Jon's head shot out and his teeth dug in to the man's throat.

By the time the men had pulled Jon off, the blood covered his front and it was too late for their comrade. A solid force hit Jon in the back of the head, nearly knocking him unconscious as similar things happened to his two best friends. Another blow landed, putting Jon to rest.

- **Linebreak** -

There was a noise, almost like a humming, and whispering too. Jon felt his feet under him, but didn't feel the familiar weight of his weapons on his back or belt. Furthermore, it felt as though a rope was being tightened around his wrists, each against a wooden post. As heavy as his eyelids were, Jon forced them up, opening his eyes to the dimly lit scene.

The night sky shone with stars and the Whispers fifty yards to Jon's right did what it does best. Hundreds if not thousands of men crowded around Jon, and he looked to his left, noticing the Smalljon tied to a thick cross to his left, turning and noticing Lachtín on his right in the same situation. When all three were awake, a woman stepped forward. Her red robes shone in the dim firelight, the stone against her neck shining with the fires. Behind her was the sternest cunt that Jon had ever had the bad luck to look upon.

"King Burnt Stag, Lady Red Bitch, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Jon asked, snarky as ever.

"Still a troublesome heathen then, Lord Jon?" Melisandre asked, smirking at him.

"Troublesome, yes. Heathen, no. I worship the true Gods, you worship a fake one supported by illusion and trickery," Jon replied, staring back unfazed by the woman's bright eyes. She smiled at him.

"Well, you stand before a host of thousands of the true lord's faithful, and you haven't your weapons, warriors. I hope you won't mind if we produce you with the greatest weapon of all?" Melisandre asked, smirking again.

"Wait, so you're giving your cunt to my men and I? Awfully generous of you, my lady," Jon asked, gaining gasps of shock and rage from the gathered men. "What? Must be a powerful tool if you can fuck a queen's husband with it and she won't dare to fight you." Stannis stepped forward, glaring at the younger man.

"You could have agreed to kneel, Stark."

"I could have, but I saw what you would do to your own brother and thought better of putting faith with you. After all, no man who slays his kin has a word worth hearing," Jon replied, glaring at Stannis. "Now, can we get on with it? If you're to burn me, you must actually create a fire and set it to the kindling beneath me, you know."

"You speak of fire as if you do not fear it," Melisandre observed. "You do not truly know the scarring kiss of the Lord of Light."

"Lady Red Bitch," Jon stated, "I've killed two dragons. I've witnessed the scarring kiss of your demon often enough. Now, get on with it."

"Start with the archer," Melisandre commanded, and several men in flaming heart stag surcoats lit their torches in the fire, placing them under Lachtín's vertical love funeral pyre. The flames licked at the structure as Jon and Smalljon looked on, showing no signs of distress or panic. The fire rose and rose, and before long, it was encompassing the greatest archer Skagos had ever seen. He was silent at first, even going so far as to put all of his energy in to keeping his lips together. Eventually, as always, the mouth opened however, but it produced a sound strange and foreign to the witnesses' ears. Lachtín Sealgaire, the Lord of Huntborne Hall, laughed as the flames of a foreign god licked at his cheeks. Soon, the same flames devoured his air supply, then simply began to devour him. Still, the movement of his mouth echoed the very laugh that had been permitted only a moment before, and the entire army of the exiled Baratheon shifted, nervous. It wasn't the laugh one could expect from Lachtín if he was playing with his son, or talking with Sansa. It was violent, borderline sadistic, reflecting the inner thoughts of every Skagosi veteran.

When the body had stopped moving, Melisandre turned to the two left Skagosi. She analyzed them, and was met with apparent disregard for the act they witnessed. Nothing would frighten the two Northerner lordlings turned Skagosi warlords.

"Burn the other two," The Red Witch commanded, staring Jon in the eye. Several more men stepped forward, placing their torches in the flames to be lit. To their surprise, a horn rang out in to the night. Out of the forest topping the slope in the far back by the Whispers rose a banner, a bloody blue winter rose on a white background. The Company of the Rose had deemed the North and it's independence worthy of their return, it would seem.

Immediately, the torch men dropped their torches and ran, the hundreds of others doing the same as thousands of armored cavalry smashed in to their unprotected lines. Northern longswords flashed out, axes slashed out, and heads and appendages rolled from bodies like white seeds blew from dandelions in strong winds. Eventually, two men on horses came up to the pyres, eyeing the body of Lachtín and turning to the other two men. One immediately jumped from his steed, the other looked at the gear in front of the pyres, removing his helm with wide eyes when he spotted Jon's helm. It was a young man, obviously Northern of blood, with brown hair and blue eyes and he stared at Jon as the other man removed his own helm, showing that it was Daimhín.

"My king, what happened here?" Daimhín questioned, rushing forward to untie Jon as another man did likewise with Smalljon.

"We were on our way to Claw Isle to meet with you, when these fuckin' cunts ambushed us and killed the men save for me, Smalljon and Lachtín," Jon responded, rubbing his hands together to regain feeling in them. Daimhín turned, looking at the burnt corpse beside them.

"Is that..." The Skagosi started, trailing off.

"Aye, they burnt him alive. He died bravely and honorably. Like a Skagosi. He rests with our brothers and the Gods," Jon stated, hand over heart and head bowed. Smalljon and Daimhín followed suit.

"How did they do it though, Jon? The Bloody Cavalry should have been more than enough to deal with a few thousand Lorathi boys," Jon's first mate asked.

"Well, most of the Bloody Cavalry was gone by then. Most of it, in fact," Jon explained, "Some died on the Trident, more died harrying Daenerys's lines, and almost all of them died burning due to Daenerys's black dragon, though the three of us slew the beast for it. By the time we were fighting Stannis, there was fifteen of us."

Daimhín nodded, suddenly regaining his bearings and turning to introduce the young man behind him.

"Jon, this is Torrhen Bolton. He brought the Company of the Rose back when they heard about you and Robb in the War of the Five Kings. They were in Sothoryos when they heard, but they made it back finally, five thousand strong," Daimhín stated, moving aside so that Torrhen and Jon could clasp hands.

"Good to meet you, Bolton. Bout time Roose got an heir, and it would appear that he has one now," Jon spoke. The boy nodded.

"Aye, if he'll have me. Either way, we're with you, King Stark," Torrhen answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but my brother Robb burned in the Riverlands not too long ago, and my younger brother the heir Bran went off North, to beyond the Wall. Rickon is the King in the North now, but he is just a boy and is in Winterfell. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," Jon responded. "However, if you'd come with me, you won't lack in the department of war."

"Aye, we're with you."

- **Linebreak** -

Daenerys sat with her only living son, Viserion, on the walls of Stoney Sept, not even 100 yards from his dead brother. She stroked Viserion's white nose as he nuzzled at her, ever the sweetest of her boys.

"You won't leave your mother, will you?" She asked as the beast rubbed it's head against her. "I won't put you in danger. Not a chance that I will." Hearing something, Viserion and Daenerys turned, spotting a horse out in the dark fields surrounding the town. It was not overly suspicious, but when noticing the horse had armor, Dany's intrigue grew. She turned to yell something to one of the guards, but before she could say something, a figure rose up out of the darkness, tall and dark. It moved, maybe raising something, and Dany was stuck staring, unable to conjure up any indication of the horror she felt. It seemed to pull back, drawing itself out, then it snapped forward, and the sound of something flying through the air was obvious. Before she could intervene, the Valyrian steel arrow landed directly in to Viserion's left eye, causing the white and gold dragon to roar in pain. Daenerys grabbed the dragon, soothing and comforting it as she stared at the figure. It moved again, the sound of metal on metal hitting the air, and there was a spark of light before a torch and a large circle of grass in front of the man lit up the night sky.

While the fire roared to life, the torch moved, and Dany saw the bow that had released the arrow that had injured her precious child. It was strapped on to the side of the horse, and the figure carrying it turned, raising the torch to better showcase his face. When the fire in front of him and the flames from the torch showcased Jon Stark's direwolf helm, Daenerys's breath hitched. His free hand removed his helm, so that his eyes could glare at her properly and unrestricted. Viserion attempted to rise in to the air, but when he tried Daenerys held him down by gripping his snout and nostrils, forcing him to sit, whimpering at the pain in his left eye as well as the loss of sight.

"Ser Barristan, Grey Worm, there he is!" Daenerys shouted frantically, prompting the white knight and Unsullied leader to begin preparing their men, charging out of the front gates just as Stark mounted his horse and rode off in to the forest, his torch showing where he went. Ser Barristan and his dozen young knights rode off after him, followed closely by 1,000 Unsullied, running in formation after them. Daenerys rose, straddling Viserion's neck and prompting him to rise in to the air, following the chase.

Jon rode down the path cutting straight down the forest, knowing full well that he was being followed. He heard the hooves of Cadeyrn splash, and continued riding until he was three dozen yards past the point where they had stopped splashing. He turned with his mount, staring as the over 1,000 men approached. When they caught sight of the man stopped and staring, the knight of the Queensguard felt incredibly uneasy with the situation. Duty was duty, however, and they rode forward with the Unsullied close behind, closing in on them. Jon switched his torch to his left hand, gripping the handle of Longclaw with his right as Ser Barristan stopped with his knights a few yards in front of Jon, his torch being the only light in the forest.

"Will you come with us to face the Queen's Justice, Ser?" Barristan asked, gripping his sword. Jon snorted, a feral and near snarl sound.

"Fuck your Queen, and fuck your justice. Besides, I ain't a Ser. Tell me, Ser Barristan, are you really as good as my Uncle Arthur was? As good as they say you are?" Jon asked, staring intently at the old and grizzled knight.

"I do not know, though I try to be," Barristan asked, Grey Worm walking up behind him and his men.

"Well then, we shall find out now, won't we?" Jon asked, throwing the torch in to the air, past Selmy and his men, past Grey Worm, landing amongst the Unsullied further back. All was silent for a moment, before a green explosion erupted behind Barristan, the puddle of Wildfire taking nearly 400 of the 1,000 Unsullied. The force and heat of the explosion knocked Barristan forward in his saddle, and while laying against the steed under him he was able to see the men in the darkness, illuminated in green by the sadistic, blazing inferno behind him.

Jon was dismounting when the Company of the Rose and the few Skagosi crashed in to the remaining 600 of the Unsullied, the battle bloody and green. Jon rushed forward, hands free and gripping Barristan, ripping the old man out of the saddle and slapping his horse on the rear to force it to run off. Rather than finishing one of the greatest knights the world had ever known, Jon rushed forward again as the Company of the Rose smashed in to men left and right, behind and in front of the fire. Jon ripped out his two swords, connecting both with Grey Worm's shield.

When the blow's appeared to not even affect the Unsullied leader, Jon kicked him in the shield, knocking him back and almost in to the flames as the fifty men with him attempted to fend off the Northern riders. Grey Worm rose, his back to the flames. He thrust his spear, attempting to skewer Jon through the leg. The Stark merely lifted his left leg, dodging the spear, before knocking Grey Worm's shield to the side with Dawn. Longclaw came flying down, cutting Grey Worm from neck to navel, though not very deeply. Grey Worm's eyes narrowed, and he attempted to swing his shield at Jon. Instead of attempting to dodge, Jon jumped back and waited until it had fully swung in front of Grey Worm. Stark spun, his spinning back kick connecting with the shield and sending the much smaller man in to the edge of the green flames. When he emerged from the fire, doused in green fire, Jon lashed out with Longclaw, separating the head from the body and dropping the corpse to the ground. He turned, his eyes feral and bloodthirsty as he searched for Barristan the Bold.

Barristan had just cut down a man of the Rose of the North when he turned, witnessing the Thirsty Wolf prowling towards him, his Valyrian steel duo out and bloody. Selmy turned, catching the first slash from Longclaw with his blade, dodging to miss Dawn. He lashed out with his sword, and Jon slammed in to it with Longclaw, snapping the well used blade. Instead of finishing the fight, Jon stopped, staring at the older warrior.

"Retrieve another sword, Ser," He stated, waiting for the old knight to re arm himself. Barristan looked around, but the Unsullied had no swords and the man he had cut down had an axe, not a sword. Jon realized the predicament as well, reversing Dawn in his hand and tossing it towards Barristan who caught it in wonder, staring at the blade and then at Jon.

"Neither my family nor I hold any qualms with a man such as you wielding the blade, Ser Barristan. Now, think nothing of it, for you will get my other blade soon enough," Jon explained, rushing forward and striking at his fellow legendary warrior. Barristan met the strike, noticing how neither sword bit in to the other. He lashed out, attempting to catch Jon in the face of his direwolf helm. Jon leaned back, just out of reach, and slashed at Barristan. The Selmy knight ducked, throwing a jab at the Wolf. Jon knocked the minor thrust aside, spinning Longclaw and attempting to take Barristan's arm off at the shoulder. The Bold turned, the strike sailing past him and missing. He thrust again with Dawn, and Jon turned, the blade sliding by him. He cut down at Selmy's hand, which pulled back, allowing the Valyrian steel blades to clash again. The force of the strike would have knocked the blade from the Bold's grip, but he turned the force on it in to a spin, spinning the sword and allowing it to fall down with only slight pressure from him towards Jon's own wrist. The Stark turned, his body pushing Longclaw and his arm out of the way as Dawn narrowly missed his back. The force of him pushing his own arm, as well as the spin of his body and the muscles in his arm pulling back made the crash a spectacular one when Jon's elbow slammed in to the cheek of Barristan's helm. Barristan was knocked sideways, landing in the dirt made mud by blood. He rolled, regaining his footing and eyeing the armored man before him.

Jon lashed out with Longclaw, hacking downward at Barristan. Longclaw met Dawn, and they both pulled their arms back, both slashing again. The blades met, and Jon advanced on Barristan, pushing him to the trees. When they were near enough, Jon caught a backing away blow from Barristan, holding the swords there and kicking the old knight in to the tree directly behind him. Jon lunged, thrusting Longclaw. Barristan ducked and spun, allowing Jon's sword to drive in to the tree. Barristan swung upward and at the right arm as he spun, but Jon pulled to the side, meaning Dawn only nicked him on the right bicep. Barristan allowed Jon to wrench his sword out of the tree, and he now advanced on the wolf, driving him back and deeper in to the darkness.

The further they got, the more difficult it got for Selmy to see Stark. Jon was already dark enough in his blood and armor, but with the light so far away now, it was nearly impossible for Barristan to make out the Thirsty Wolf or his strikes. Jon, however, could very clearly see Barristan's outline due to the fires far behind him, though even his sight of Barristan's blows was obscured noticeably. Finally, Barristan's blow was obvious in Jon's eyes, and he allowed to sail past him slightly before Longclaw followed it, driving Dawn's point slightly in to the dirt. Before Barristan could posture up, Jon's armored right shin came up in a roundhouse, connecting with Selmy's head and knocking him backwards. Barristan spun with the force, managing to maintain his footing. They were drawing nearer to the fire, their sounds of combat being the only ones as a crowd of men watched the combat, the forest burning around them, smoke filling their view.

Barristan struck a backhand, attempting to take Jon's head off, but Jon leaned just out of the way and knocked Dawn further away with Longclaw, his front kick catching Barristan in the jaw and severely disorienting him, throwing him farther back towards the fire, falling on his ass. Jon allowed him the time to recover, standing up and charging at Jon again. Their blades clashed some more, the two walking legends dancing back and forth.

Barristan attempted another backhand, a dozen feet from the fire, and Jon ducked, slamming Longclaw in a backhand through Barristan's armor around his knee. It bit halfway through, and Jon pulled it out as Barristan hit the ground with his other knee, Dawn digging in to the earth to keep him up. Jon stepped out to Barristan's left and front as Barristan attempted to rise, spinning his sword and then driving it down and forward, through Barristan Selmy's fourth and fifth ribs, penetrating the warrior's heart and killing him instantly. When Jon ripped Longclaw out, he sheathed it in order to grab Barristan and Dawn. Laying the corpse of the great man down, face up, Jon gripped Barristan's Queensguard helm and pulled it off. helm

The crowd cheered as Jon sheathed Dawn, eyeing the sky and finally spotting the shadow of the dragon up there, a rider on the back as the clouds cleared out, the frosty and starry sky portraying Daenerys clearly. Jon stepped forward, walking towards the hole in the trees where the tree had burnt away, reaching down and grabbing Grey Worm's helm as he went. When he finally stepped fully in to view of Daenerys, he gripped the two helmets by the top of the helm, palming them as he held them up for her to see.

Daenerys knew not whether the Unsullied had won the battle, or if whatever force had been waiting for them had. She had utmost confidence in her men, but Skagosi were something else entirely. When whichever army had survived in the burning forest cheered, she smiled. Barristan had taken the Thirsty Wolf's head. Then, a figure stepped under a clear spot in the forest, and her hopes fell along with her smile. The Thirsty Wolf stared at her, holding the helms of her two most trusted commanders and warriors, two men she had cared deeply for, in the air for her to see them. Her breath hitched again, and a sob escaped her throat as the Stark king glared at her. She prompted Viserion to turn and fly off towards her forces farther North, leaving the scene as the army of Northerners cheered.

- **Linebreak** -

King Jaime Lannister and King Byron Oakheart fought side by side, putting traitorous Reachman after traitorous Reachman to the sword. Jaime wielded Red Rain, the new sword of his house, with his golden armor and helm the shape of a roaring golden lion, a shield strapped to his left forearm. Byron wielded Steel Limb, the new Valyrian steel sword of House Oakheart, his helm and armor normal steel inlaid with designs of an oak tree, leaves, limbs and roots, with a shield in his left hand.

The battle took place South and East of Old Oak, along the beaches next to the Ocean Road, in sight of the smallest of the Shield Islands. The Oakhearts and Lannisters were outnumbered, forced in to a face to face confrontation with the force of Rowans, Tyrells and Tarlys. Loras was not here, but his most prized commander Lord Randyll Tarly was, and if he was defeated then all was lost for the Reach. Sadly, it appeared that would not be so.

Jaime ducked under a strike from some knight, kicking him back towards Byron who cut him down. Jaime knocked aside a strike from another man, quickly cutting him down with the red sword in his hands. The two kings analyzed the battle field, around 30,000 dead bodies littering it, another 25,000 still fighting. The Oakhearts and Lannisters numbered 10,000 of that, the opposition being the rest. One could feel the morale dropping in the air for the combined might of the free and faithful. Then, the unthinkable happened.

The Shield Islands had been burning under the attacks of the Skagosi, though the defenses were much better now than they had been the last time the Skagosi had been there, meaning it was impossible for them to get to their allies on the mainland. Or so it was thought. Despite that, the _Seawolf_ emerged from the morning mist over the ocean, followed by however many ships were behind it. On the prow of the lead warship stood King Jon Stark, bone armor ready and Valyrian steel duo out.

When the ships hit the beach, 5,000 Skagosi and Northern Rose warriors jumped on to the sands of the Reach, screaming for blood with Jon being at the front and one of the loudest. Jon knocked aside the blow by a man-at-arms, spitting in his face and then dragging both of his swords down through the man, creating a v shape in him that started at his shoulders and ended at the top of his stomach, cutting all the way through him. The body was now two and fell apart as Jon kicked it in to the next man, cutting him down before he could rise. The next man approached but Ghost jumped on to him, tearing his throat out. Soon enough, Randyll Tarly and his counter assault force came thundering headlong down the beach at the invaders.

Jon met Lord Randyll head on, knocking aside a blow from the greatsword Heartsbane, dodging the Valyrian steel blade when it came back around again. Jon lashed out with Longclaw, cutting deep in to the Southern lord's face. He dodged and struck out with Dawn, creating an identical cut on the opposite side of Randyll's face. Angered, the veteran rushed in, attempting to cut down the younger warrior. Jon, taking a chance, dropped down low and jumped in, finding luck and driving both of his swords in to Randyll's sternum, directly through the solar plexus. It was only when Jon roared and lifted, picking the Tarly up in to the air that broke the traitorous Reachmen.

They fled, only to be cut down oncoming warriors or cavalry. Jon merely sheathed his blades after allowing the Reach lord's body to fall from his blades, reaching down to pick up Heartsbane and then it's sheath, holding it in his hands. Jaime and Byron, watching their men chase after the cowardly foes, approached Jon.

"Stark," Jaime called out cheekily, "Seems you finally thought to make it to the war."

"Aye, Lannister," Jon responded, clearly not fully invested in the conversation. "If I was to let you try to win the war by yourself, the enemy would be marching in to Casterly Rock in a week."

"King Jon, I am Byron," The older man who looked so much like his younger brother Arys stated, holding out his hand. Jon shook it, dazed and lost in the memory of his first time in King's Landing and the dual that ensued. "I think I have a young man who would interest you."

Jon was surprised, shaken out of his thoughts as he looked on, Byron turning and motioning a young man forward. He was tall, blonde of hair with blue or purple eyes, a handsome lad. He couldn't have been too much younger than Jon himself, maybe half a decade at most. He raised his eyebrow as the younger, blood covered warrior looked at him.

"I am Edric Dayne," The younger man stated, "Your cousin and Lord of Starfall."

"Oh," Jon stated, and felt a sudden sense of depression, knowing what he must do. He reached back, unbuckling Dawn in it's scabbard and sliding it off, holding the sheathed sword out to his younger cousin. The man was speechless, and appeared unable to form words.

"I am no Dayne, Edric. This sword belongs to House Dayne. It has been my honor to wield it, but it belongs with you," Jon spoke, nodding at the sword. Edric gently grabbed it, unsheathing it and staring at the blade in awe.

"You have brought this blade to a resurgence it has never seen before, Jon," Edric spoke, quiet and shy. "Arthur was an amazing swordsman, and made the sword more famous than ever, but it has lost it's infamy, or at least it did, until you came along. You shall go down in history as the greatest Sword of the Morning to have ever held this sword, Stark."

"If you say so, cousin," Jon spoke. Edric looked up, the quiet and shy boy inside of him acting up as he seemed to glow in awe of the living legend who had openly called him his kin.

"You seem to only have one of those longswords now, Jon," Jaime commented, eyeing Longclaw.

"No, I have neither," Jon answered, holding it out to Smalljon who grabbed it, returning to his ship. "The sword is going back North with Smalljon, to be returned to the Mormonts as Smalljon heads to Skagos, to be the warden in my stead and to see his son."

"Then what..." Jaime asked before his eyes landed on Heartsbane, staring at it. "You mean to take a greatsword for your houses weapon?"

"Only a greatsword for now, Jaime," Jon replied, smiling slightly. "When I heard that Loras had betrayed us, I called in for a specific Volantene smith to come to Westeros. One of only three men in the world who know how to rework Valyrian steel. He will teach one of my smiths, and they shall come here to reforge Heartsbane in to two swords. They shall be Winter and Dusk, as I am."


	20. Chapter 20: War War Never Changes

**What is up ladies and gentleman? How are we? Good? Eh I've lost interest. Who cares. Are y'all prepared for this? It's finna be emotional. And long. Really long. But mostly emotional. Hard to believe it's been three months. Alright, so, last chapter I said Rickon is the heir to the North, but I meant Robb's son Eddard. Good? Good.**

 **Listen, after this, Imma do one of three stories. I need you all to go to the poll on my account and tell me which one you want me to do. Your choices:**

 _ **A.) Construction of Insanity: Liam Magnar I. B.) Honor of Hell: Seamus Steele. C.) Intention of Stone: Jon Stark II.**_

 **Please go to the poll and choose whichever one you want, I'll do whichever one gets the most votes. The poll will close on 4/15/17**

 **Black Sheep, White Wolf**

 **Chapter 20: War. War Never Changes.**

Winter was three and a half feet of Valyrian steel, the grip and hilt dragon bone modeled after a regular leather grip and hilt, the cross guard carved in the shape two swords connected at the pommels, a grinning skeleton on both sides with ruby eyes. The pommel was blackened dragon bone fashioned after a direwolf's head, snarling with unique white diamond eyes that had spent years in the earth, ingraining with something else so that inside the stones were flecks of black and red.

Dusk was three and a half feet of Valyrian steel as well, the grip and hilt exactly the same as Winter, and the pommel mostly the same. The direwolf head was black and snarling, though it's eyes were a black hematite stone, flecks of an orange red dancing inside it. The blade entered Dickon Tarly's chest before Winter swung around, slashing across the young lord's face and sending him flying in to the soft, green ground.

Lord Dickon Tarly had set out to lead the final counter charge against the combined might of the Skagosi, Northerners, Westerlanders, Dornish and independent Reachmen, only to end up being stopped short by Jon and the Skagosi vanguard at the steps of the entrance to the maze that is the gardens of Highgarden.

Lord Blane Ashford, the young friend of the last of the Tarly line, charged Jon for vengeance. Ashford jabbed forward, leaping and lunging as he attempted to skewer Jon through the neck, only for the Stark to duck under the attempt. Jon stepped aside, missing the downward hack that had followed the stab. He jabbed Dusk forward, poking the younger and more inexperienced warrior in his left eye, deep enough to catch it, blinding it and nearly pulling it out of the socket. Blane screamed in pain, his left hand covering his left eye as he swung sideways at Jon who stopped the blade with Dusk. Winter came flashing by, cutting across the Reachman's right eye, fully blinding him. Ashford screamed again, blinded completely as blood flowed from his eye sockets, drenching his face and neck. He swung, back and forth, attempting to kill his opponent. Jon merely continued his way walking backward, calmly dodging the wild strikes until he took a step down the stairs, bobbing under the wild sideways strike and popping up on Blane's right side, at which point Winter severed the head from the neck of the lordling.

Jon rushed forward, the force of summer knights that had once been so brave in their counter assault ran in fear, fleeing from the barbarous king and his disciples, only to be cut down by arrows or to be forced back by the blazing inferno that was the gardens. Torches, flaming arrows, and barrels of pitch launched by catapults and trebuchets had entered the green gardens, filling the city with smoke and preventing any sense of order that was possible for the Tyrell forces. The Skagosi, however, were born in war, baptized by snow and smoke. They saw through the flames of Hell and breathed in the fumes of sulfur and ash as if they were no more than everyday pleasantries. So, as Reachmen dropped to their knees, rubbing at their eyes or bending at the waist and coughing up their last meal, the Reapers of Stone ran rampant amongst the greens and soldiers, cutting and chopping as they pleased.

Jon ran through the burning bushes, brushing aside flaming roses and daisies alike as his bone and steel armor prevented him from receiving any burns, only the sense of heat really reaching him. The maze would take too long to navigate, so Jon broke through the walls of plant life, cutting down every foe he came across. He pushed through a lilac wall, coming across a group of three men in surcoats attempting rush to prevent the invaders from entering any further.

Jon jabbed at the first man, puncturing his throat and finishing him, the man dying on his feet. Jon kicked him in the chest, knocking him back in the second man and throwing both of them to the ground. The third man approached and swung wildly at Jon with his sword, missing when Jon leaned back slightly. The Thirsty Wolf lunged, driving Dusk through the man's head at the bridge of the nose. Winter came up from Jon's left side in a backhanded swipe, severing the head from the body with it still on Dusk. He turned, the second man who had been knocked down finally on his feet. Stark backhanded Dusk, throwing the head off the blade and in to the living man's own face which distracted him. The King of Skagos drove his left blade in to the man's foot, pushing Winter down through his spine and chest when the man bent over in pain. Ripping the blades out, Jon continued his headlong rush, his own men now not far behind him.

Jon pushed through a row of rose bushes, ashes and embers flying in every direction as the group behind the wall jumped back in shock. Lady Olenna Tyrell and Lady Alerie Tyrell stared in open astonishment as their guards eyes' opened wide in fear, a few of the younger ones nearly dropping their weapons. Jon snarled, stepping forward and slamming both of his swords through the shoulders of the nearest stunned man, separating his arms from his body and leaving him to die. Lady Olenna's two guards, Erryk and Arryk, the seven foot twins referred to as Left and Right, stepped forward. Momentarily, Jon reflected on how sorry he felt for their mother's womb and vagina, before his sympathy was replaced once more by bloodlust ad excitement.

The twins drew their swords, their steel glinting in the hazy lighting produced by the fires of Highgarden. Erryk struck first, slashing at Dusk. Jon caught the blade with both of his, holding his own against the giant man's strength. Soon enough, the Stark turned downward, leaning to dodge a lunge by Arryk and driving his swords and Erryk's in to the ground. Using the blades as leverage, Jon jumped in to the air and firmly planted both boots in Erryk's jaw, knocking him back and unconscious as Jon's body shot back in to the back of Arryk's knee. The still awake brother hit his knees, and Jon rolled out of the way to dodge the sword that came stabbing down where he once was. Jon rolled on to his feet, regaining his stance as Arryk attempted to do likewise, his large frame costing him time. Dusk drove forward, piercing Arryk's left knee and pinning him to the ground before Winter did likewise to the giant man's neck.

Jon tore the blades free from the seven foot corpse, spinning on Erryk who was being awakened by the frightened Tyrell ladies. The other guardsmen, a handful of spearmen, stood back in fear with their spears raised towards Jon. Erryk attempted to rise, still disoriented, but before he could regain his footing, Jon stabbed Winter in to the man's ribcage, down through his right armpit. The twin froze, the life leaving his eyes as he fell off the blade and hit the ground.

One of the five spearmen thrust his spear towards Jon's waist, but the wolf warrior stepped to the side, jumping in to the air and driving Winter through the guard's head, spinning as he landed on his feet, slashing with Dusk and cutting halfway through the next man's torso from left shoulder to right hip. Jon pulled Winter out, bending to dodge the next spear and driving Dusk through the man's thigh, severing the femoral artery. The king spun, dropping low to separate the leg from the next man's body, nothing left below the knee as hit the ground before both swords ran through his chest, traveling through his lungs and pinning him to the marble floor of the patio the group had backed up to. Leaving the blades in him, Jon turned and jumped in to the guard of the next man, throwing his elbow up in to the man's jaw, followed by his palm crushing the spearman's throat. The guard dropped his spear and stumbled back, blood flowing from his mouth as he groped his neck. The man who had killed his friends spun, landing a picture perfect spinning back kick which landed in the man's chest, throwing him through the railing and flying towards the ground seventy five feet below.

When Jon turned again, Olenna and Alerie were trying to slip away, until Jon growled, the sound of the blades sliding against the blood and flesh of one of the corpses as Jon retrieved his swords scaring the ladies, causing them to stop.

"Well, aren't you quite the savage?" The Queen of Thorns asked matter-of-factly as she and her good-daughter turned to the King of Skagos. Jon bared his teeth, grinning and snarling at the old lady.

"Aye, that I am. I had thought that perhaps Garlan had spoken well of me," Jon said, staring intently at the two ladies.

"Pfft, Garlan," Olenna dismissed. "A good lad, a strong man, smart enough I suppose, but just dumb enough to entrust his life and his family's life to Loras. His own little brother killed Garlan and his wife and children, because the Targaryen girl promised him fire and blood. How well that has worked out for him, well, that's fairly self-evident."

"Aye, and I'll be the one to show him the error of his ways," Jon responded, leveling his blades at the two. "Now, where is your granddaughter?"

"She wouldn't leave the boy Tommen, and Loras won't let the little lion leave, so she stayed behind with some guards and that husband of hers," Alerie responded, looking fearfully at the blades, Jon prepared to smite the ladies, but thought better of it.

"House Tyrell is finished, the last male will die and the blood will only live on in some Lannister children, though it will be bred out mostly," Jon promised, lowering his swords. "But, there is no reason to kill two ladies who more than likely would have avoided the direction the Turncloak went. I shall spare you. Here," Jon said, stabbing Dusk in to the ground and ripping off a piece of the emblazoned cloak beneath his armor, handing it to the two of them. "That should earn you safe passage out of the city if you come across any soldiers. The bloody direwolf is feared by every man, be they foe or friend, and it's wrath is one no man wishes to incur." Jon nodded at the two, picking up Dusk and sheathing the two swords before running off in the direction of the near castle.

Loras "Sword-Swallower" Tyrell was screaming at the guards around him to kill the invaders when Jon burst on to the scene. The man in the direwolf helm couldn't help but imagine this behavior was something Loras, Joffrey and the Mad King Aerys Targaryen shared. A spoiled, paranoid, screeching action.

"Loras Tyrell," Jon shouted, garnering the attention of the young lunatic and his guards. "You stand guilty of murdering King Garlan Tyrell, a brother to me. You stand guilty of betraying King Gendry Baratheon, and putting his men to the sword. You stand guilty of betraying your own people and denying the entirety of the Reach it's freedom in exchange for your lust for wrongful vengeance against me and mine. Do you have any last words?"

"You seem to be mistaken, Stark," Loras replied, guards entering the courtyard from several direction, a few dozen surrounding Jon with their hands on their swords, still sheathed at their waists. "If any man is on trial here, it is you, and you would do well to remember that."

"No, Kinslayer," Jon called back over the men in between him and Loras. "I am the Judge, the Jury, and the Executioner. I am the Wrath of the Gods. And you would do well to remember that." Jon reached up, gripping the dragon bone handles of his swords and sliding them out, the sound of the Valyrian steel on the dragon bone and wolf pelt sheaths filling him with renewed energy. The group of men around him unsheathed their weapons as well, thirty-six swords against Jon's two. Placing the tips of his blades in to the ground, he nodded at the side of the circle in front of him, and they charged.

Jon kicked Winter up, throwing a clump of loose dirt in to the eyes of the men in front of him. He pivoted, turning and kicking Dusk towards his left, the dirt sent their way blinding them as Dusk and Winter now moved together, above his head and swinging around. The blades knocked aside two swords that had simultaneously thrust his way, before Dusk dropped low, swinging up in to the guts of a man to Jon's left, and Winter swung by, opening a man's throat from ear to ear. The Stark ripped Dusk out, thrusting it in to the neck of a man charging at him, turning and slashing downward with Winter, pushing away the sword that had risen to block the strike and cutting the man down. Jon ripped Dusk out of the man that was now behind him, using it's momentum to knock away a blow from the next man in front of him, before Winter came up and found it's way through the man's chest right below his throat, exiting out of his back and piercing the throat of the man behind him.

The Thirsty Wolf reversed the grip on Winter, turning so his back was to the two men on it and he ripped it out, coming down in an uppercut which split the jaw and face of the man charging him. Jon moved his head to his left, narrowly dodging a sword thrust from another foe. Jon's helm struck the man in the nose when the king headbutted the guard, knocking him back as blood exploded from it. A man grabbed Jon from behind, the group of men growing too close for swords. The eldest Stark left alive merely threw his head back, knocking unconscious the man behind him. His right elbow came up, striking the jaw of another man and sending him back in to the two men behind him. Throwing himself that way, Jon somersaulted over the fallen trio, escaping the circle around him.

Jon regained his footing, only to be forced to drop low when the roaring of the flaming catapult boulder came near enough to his head. The giant rock struck the castle near the courtyard, toppling the intricate arch system above Jon, his foes and Loras Tyrell. Looking up, Jon saw the arch above him, and he rolled to the side, barely dodging the falling marble.

Rising to his feet, Jon gathered his thoughts. The entire area was covered in dust and dirt, floating through and filling the air, distant fires and nearer obscure outlines were all that would be visible to any regular man amongst the chaos. However, Jon was no regular man, and had been used to this type of environment for a decade. Stepping over some rubble, Jon began his walk towards where he believed the men he had been fighting would be. When he found them, it would be easy to decide where Loras had been when the catapult ammunition had struck.

The first man Jon found was on his knees, retching his guts out. By the time he had looked up, Winter was already on the course to taking his head off. Without even waiting for the head to roll, Jon continued, stepping to a man who was buried under some rubble from the waist down.

"Help, wait, no, NO-" The man started before the dual longswords pierced his chest, silencing him. Jon ripped them out, stalking towards the next figure in the dust, a knight on his knees, capturing his breath and staring in to the dirty sky. When Jon entered his vision, he panicked.

"SHI-" Was the scream that erupted from the downed knight's throat as he picked up his forearm to block the imminent blow. Winter cut through the gauntlet and the forearm, severing it, before the sword itself cut wide open the helm and head of the man the arm belonged to. The body sat still for a moment, eyes wide and mouth open before it fell forward, thudding against the ground. Jon stepped over the corpse, heading towards the sound of moving rocks.

When Jon came upon the sight of two men attempting to rescue their dozen comrades trapped under a pile of rocks, he felt a slight bit of sympathy for them, working so fervently to save their brother-in-arms. That didn't stop Jon from sticking his swords through their backs, however. When he pulled the swords out of the bodies slumping over the rocks they had been trying to move, a force slammed in to him from behind, throwing him against the pile of rubble. The swords stuck in to the pile of rocks, and Jon flipped over, knocking off whoever it was that had tackled him. When he rose, he saw that it was Loras who had in fact slammed him against the rocks. When the Knight of Flowers thrust his sword up at Jon, Jon merely moved his head, grabbing the forearm and shoving his knee in to it, breaking the bone. A crack was heard, and Loras cried out, falling off the rock he was perched on and hitting the ground, clutching his broken arm.

The Thirsty Wolf, silent, stepped one foot over Loras, dropping down so that his knees were on Loras's shoulders, pinning him to the ground. Rearing his right fist back, Jon struck his adversary across the face, breaking his nose. He cocked back again, breaking the Tyrell's jaw. Loras whimpered, obviously in pain, and Jon reached out, groping for something. He grabbed a rock, big enough to be large but small enough to be able to be held by two hands. The Skagosi Stark lifted the rock above his head, slamming it down on to Loras's face. He picked the rock up, slamming it back down again. He did it over and over, gurgled sounds escaping from the Knight of Flower's throat as the rock caved his skull in. Jon's movements did not cease, however, and he continued to pick up the rock and bring it crashing back down time and time again, until the face was no longer a face at all.

Glaring at the pulp of a head, Jon rose from his knees, spitting on the corpse once he was on his feet. He dropped the rock next to the victim, knocking back his helm with his elbow and rubbing at the dust and dirt on his face with his blood-covered hands. Once he had done a sufficient job, the Thirsty Wolf placed his helm back on his head, walking over and grabbing his swords from the pile of rubble with the moaning men beneath it. Without skipping a beat, Jon began walking towards the vague outline of the ruins of the castle.

Jon pushed open the doors of the Sept of Highgarden, hearing noises emitting from the inside. When he entered, however, it was not as he had expected. Tommen, face bloodied, was against a fallen arch, eyes closed but chest still moving, looking as though he had taken a beating. Littered around the back row of pews was a small group of guards, some bloody from blade wounds, others crippled from debris. The only movement was from two fellows and a girl, and upon further inspection, Jon recognized the girl and the actions. Two men in Tyrell surcoats were holding down Margaery Tyrell, her face already slightly bloody from being struck. Jon assumed these men had been the ones to strike Tommen, who was more than likely attempting to protect his wife.

As one of the men, the one between Margaery's legs, attempted to undo the laces on his breeches, a sword sprouted from his head, blood pouring out on to her midsection. The man holding her arms and head looked up, only for his own head to be removed from his shoulders. The ugly dome fell on to Margaery, rolling in to her lap as she backed away from the bodies, pushing the head off of her. She shuddered, on the verge of crying.

"I thank you Ser-" The Tyrell girl, one of the three living Tyrells, started, before she looked up and saw the man before her and the words caught in her throat. Before her stood the Thirsty Wolf, a man infamous for leading other men who killed men AND women. His armor was covered in blood and dust, as were the bare parts of his arms, though the blades in his hands held no dust. It was clear that under the helm, his face was covered in crimson, the same as his hands, and his stony gray eyes stared intently in to her own brown ones.

"I am no Ser, girl," Jon spoke, his voice steely and cold, stating her as no more than a child though they were the same age. She broke from her stupor, backing away from Jon, kicking at the ground as she held a hand out, the other helping her to move. Jon followed her movement closely, with his eyes and his body.

"Please, I had no part in what my brother did, if I had known I would have-" Margaery began, her back hitting a piece of an arch behind her. "Please, just, make it quick." She closed her eyes and prepared for the sound of steel in the air, but was confused by the sound of steel against bone and fur. When she opened her eyes, Jon's hand was out in front of her, open and ready to help her up. She stared at it for a moment, eyeing the offer. Then, remembering that it was considered rude to dismiss an offered hand, as well as remembering just who exactly it was she would be offending, she quickly grabbed his hand. He pulled gently, helping her to her feet.

"You are Prince Tommen's wife, girl," Jon spoke, his deep voice gravelly as ever. "The Lannisters are like kin to me, and therefore, you are as well. I will not kill you. Well, not unless Tommen decides he's okay with it." It took her a moment to get over her fear enough to realize he was jesting with her. She smiled, and he seemed slightly pleased. He pulled his hand back, removing his helm from his head and allowing it to lay back on his hood. Jon spun on his heel, turning and marching over to another pile of rubble, leaving Margaery confused until she saw the young man up against the marble pile.

"Tommen!" The technically Lannister princess shouted, rushing to her husband's side. He groaned, and she cradled his head, staring in worry at his wounds. When Tommen's eyes finally opened, they were covered in worry.

"Are you okay Margaery? They didn't-"

"No, King Stark got here just in time to stop them," She assured her husband, gesturing to Jon as she helped Tommen sit up further.

"Uncle Jon," Tommen greeted, having been looking up to the eight year older boy as an uncle, since his father Jaime and Jon saw each other as near brothers. "I am forever in your debt."

"No you're not, Tommen," Jon replied, grinning slightly at the bloody boy. "Come on, we'd best be getting you back to your father, he'll be glad to see you." Jon helped pick the boy up, he and Margaery each slinging one of Tommen's arms over their shoulders. They left the Sept, walking across a small formerly grassy yard before entering the true courtyard. They walked towards the gardens, and Margaery spotted her brothers armor, though the head was beyond recognition, the rock that lay next to it having made sure of that. Her breath hitched in her throat. He may have become a bastard, but he was still her brother. She looked once more at Jon's right hand, sat loosely on Tommen's right collarbone, only inches away from her own face and completely soaked in blood. Somehow, she just knew, she must have had already made peace with the man who had butchered her dear brother.

- **Jesus Christ That's 4,000 Words of Fuckin' Battle,** **Jesus** **Fuck, Linebreak** -

Dany was sat in Cider Hall, home of the Fossoways, the only house in the Reach, perhaps even all of Westeros, that had kept out of the conflict. When Loras had murdered Garlan, he had murdered Garlan's Fossoway wife, as well as the Fossoway army which had gone North with Garlan and the Brightwater Keep men. The Fossoways had burnt, and now, the hall was hers. For how long, she could not say.

"Oh the direwolves are prowling, howling at the door,

Feast on flesh put the me in mess now I am no more,"

Some bard sang in an adjacent room, and Dany had half a mind to tell her child to burn him. However, Viserion's energy was best saved for a possible escape, since, as of now, there was almost no way she could win this war. She was surrounded on all sides. The Dornish were on her Southern side, the Oakhearts and the few other free of the Reach on her Southwestern side. The Westerlanders sat on her Western side, and the Riverlanders under the one-armed Edmure Tully sat on her Northwest. The North, under the leadership of the young Rickon Stark who had only recently joined the war, second heir to Winterfell, was on her Northern side. The Skagosi savages prowled along her Northeastern walls, the Valemen on her Eastern walls, and the Stormlanders on her Southeastern. Thousands upon thousands of men, all waiting for her head. She had 500 Dothraki riders as of now, plus Missandei, the two bloodriders left to her, and of course Viserion. If it was Aegon's conquest and the eight kingdoms were not unified, it could have been enough, but as it was, the Skagosi themselves could finish her off here and now, not to mention the larger forces of the other kingdoms. The river Mander wasn't even of much use, the armies being directly beneath her walls.

"Your Grace," Missandei spoke, interrupting Dany's thoughts. The queen turned to her oldest, and now, only friend, offering a small smile.

"Yes?" Daenerys asked, attempting to mask the fear in her.

"What are we to do now?" The Summer Islander girl asked, scared.

"You, my dear friend, will go to the Northerners and the Skagosi for peace and safety," Daenerys asked, her heart breaking and eyes tearing.

"Khaleesi," Missandei stated, confused. "Why would I go to the Skagosi for safety?"

"Because, they may kill women," Dany explained, "But they do not rape, and it is highly unlikely they will execute you for my actions. You've done no fighting. Besides, as of now, Northerners and Skagosi are one in the same. The Rickon boy has the mind of a Skagosi savage. Even then, they're still safer for you than the other kingdoms."

"But, I'm to go with you," Missandei protested.

"No, my friend. I will not escape what is to come. I will try, but the Thirsty Wolf will come for me and Viserion. There is nothing to be done for it. At least you can be safe," Daenerys told her friend, tears in her eyes.

"But Khalee-"

"I will hear none of it," Daenerys interrupted. "It is a command. When you are there, I would ask you speak with the Starks on gaining safe passage back to Essos for our Dothraki. They need not die here either."

"… Yes, Dany," The girl from Naath answered. She surged forward, embracing Daenerys before turning and fleeing, tears streaming down her face.

- **Linebreak** -

"My king," Cryus the Crier, the gloried and infamous Bloody Bard, who wrote the Reaper of Reavers among others, entered Jon's war council tent. Cryus had become one with the Skagosi, becoming a sort of warden for the city in the Bloody Bay as well as coming to war three times with the Skagosi and covering himself in glory every time. He was loved and respected by his lighter-skinned peers.

"Yes, my friend?" Jon questioned, curious as to the reason for the interruption as all the kings of Westeros sat around his table.

"Daenerys's interpreter, Missandei, has arrived here to speak of some terms with you, not for Daenerys, but for the Dothraki and herself." Jon was curious, and motioned to him to allow her to come in. When she entered, the first thing that ran through his mind was the fact that her dress was far too thin for Winter, which was very nearly upon them all.

"My lady, here," Jon offered a coat of furs to her, giving a small smile to show no harm was meant. In his older age, and now that the war was almost over, Jon had cut off the warhawk, instead keeping his hair short as well as keeping his beard short and trimmed, meaning that he appeared much less threatening than before.

"Thank you, King Jon," Missandei said, cautious as ever. She took the furs, putting them on, seeming noticeably warmer.

"So, what is it you have come to say?" Jon asked, one of the nicer amongst the kings.

"Queen Daenerys does not wish for her people to die. She would ask that safe passage be granted to her Dothraki as well as myself back to Essos," Missandei stated, trying to keep the tears from flooding back again. Most had not noticed it, but Jon had.

"Aye, the passage will be granted. Friends, would you excuse us for but a moment?" Jon asked, looking at the other kings. The kings rose, curious but not suspicious, having learned to trust in Jon, especially since he was one of the four original kings left, Doran having passed on some months ago, Trystane in his place. Robert Arryn and Rickon Stark spoke with each other, meaning one of the originals was unsuspicious, and Edmure smiled at Jon, leaving the tent, making the count two. However, Jon's good-brother Gendry, the most dangerous of the original kings besides Jon himself, seemed more curious than the rest. When Jon gave him a look conveying that they would speak later, the Baratheon was satisfied and left, the Skagosi guards closing the flaps behind him.

Only Jon and Missandei stood in the tent, the air cold. Realizing that the Summer Islander must still feel the cold, Jon walked over, starting a fire in the fire pit in the middle of the tent.

"Thank you," Missandei told him after he had it roaring to life.

"It's no trouble. My wife was Dornish, and the cold was alien to her as well. Got used to starting fires, though war is the only time I get used to staying around them, else I'll melt," Jon told her, smiling and jesting by the end. She smiled slightly, glad that the Thirsty Wolf was not so bloodthirsty off the battlefield. "But, I must ask you, Lady Missandei."

"It's just Missandei, King Jon."

"Then it is just Jon, Missandei," Jon retorted, grinning at her. "Is the dragon still alive in there? And does Daenerys plan to flee justice?"

"Well..." Missandei started, unsure how to answer.

"Just answer truthfully, please. It will make no difference as to whether you and the Dothraki are safe."

"Yes, she'll flee."

"As I expected. Tell me something else, Missandei, if you would?"

"Yes, of course."

"What do you plan on doing?" At her look of confusion, Jon explained. "I mean, the Dothraki will go back to Essos, that is certain. But, Essos is not for you, you were a slave, if the reports were true. You have nothing to return to there. I suppose you could go to the Summer Islands, but I doubt your family is alive or there. What do you plan on doing?"

"I… have no idea," She confessed.

"I have a proposal," Jon began. "My children are smart, they learn well, better than I ever could. However, there is no one on Skagos to teach them languages. We are raiders, we travel the world fighting, it is what we do. It would do well for us if we could speak the languages of these places we wish to see. I would ask that you come to Skagos to teach the children."

"I..." She trailed off.

"It is alright, I need no answer yet. You may make use of my tent tonight, and think on it. I will be passed out drunk in the feasting tent if you need me," He jested, making her laugh lightly. He rose, taking her hand and kissing it on the knuckles. "Please, think over it."

- **Linebreak** -

 **A Decade Later**

Jon Stark, the First King of Skagos in centuries, stood on the docks of Skipalon, the city that grew around the docks of the Bloody Bay. His hair was still black, though it was peppered with gray, befitting a man nearly forty years of age. On his back sat a sword, one longsword of regular steel. The two legendary swords Winter and Dusk sat strapped on to the back of his eldest son, Jon II, a man grown, 6'7" and broad, and in his twenties who now captained the _Seawolf_ and commanded the armies of the Bloody Isles with Jon's armor and direwolf helm. The crown was on Jon II's head as the two embraced.

"My son, you will make a good king. A great one, even. Just try not to outdo your old man too bad, eh?" The two laughed, and Jon moved down, sharing jokes with Skulgarth and Ashara. Eddard, his son by the prostitute Alayaya. Catelyn, his daughter by Dancy. Lachtín, his son by a Skagosi prostitute. Robb, Gendry, Lyanna, Edmure, Brynden and his twin Brandon, and Rickon, all his children by his second wife Missandei. He joked and laughed with all of them, nearly came to tears with them, and smiled at them, comforting them even now.

"Skagos!" Jon announced. "Unless a man is a Sap-Veins, he has no business as an old man, doddering and criticizing. At a certain point, all men must die or leave to die. The remaining members of my crew and my dearest friends, we must leave. We go on, to glory and death! We thank you, and we love you!" A boat, new and plain, sat with Smalljon who had regular axe rather than Steele (His son Jeor, even larger than him, wielded Steel now), Arik and Kira, Daimhín, Cryus and others on board. Soon, Cadeyrn and Ghost followed them, both beasts still strong, though obviously aged, as Jon was. Luckily, the two male animals had bred with females years earlier, producing the finest offspring for Jon's children, as seen by the dark gray almost black direwolf known as Grimm that stood by Jon II's side, larger and fiercer than any seen before, even his sire. As Jon boarded the ship, _The Last Journey_ , the island of Skagos presented him with one last parting gift.

"Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí!" They chanted, and the images of all of Jon's adventures flashed before his eyes. Wildlings and Ygritte, the Magnar at White Dawn Settlement, Sharp Point, the Iron Islands, Skagosi independence in the form of Arys Oakheart's blood, wars in the East and wars in Westeros, the death of the two dragons and the escape of Daenerys and Viserion who had not been found, the torture of Lady Red Bitch and the decapitation of the Delusional Stag, and raising his own family, his sons making him proud with their strength and his daughters doing exactly the same. His two true loves, Arianne and Missandei, flashed before his eyes, and he knew he would see them both soon.

"Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí, Rí!"

- **Linebreak** -

Lightning brightened the sky and thunder shook the world as the stormy waves crashed in to the _Last Journey,_ the storm attempting, though failing, to rattle the veteran Skagosi aboard the ship. The storm only got thicker ahead of them, the sea gray as Jon's eyes. All aboard the vessel knew, there would be no after for this leg of the voyage.

"Prepare the sails, store away what you want, ready yourselves!" Jon shouted, his voice booming out past the sound of winds and waters, thunder and creaking. "The Gods themselves seek a sparring session with us!" Jon unsheathed the blade on his back, all aboard the ship doing the same as they poured kerosene amongst themselves, followed by Wildfire. One must not go in to that good night without their funeral pyre. Tears streamed openly down all of their faces, and one voice started, the others soon pitching in.

"Oh all the money that e'er I spent  
I spent it in good company  
And all the harm that e'er I've done  
Alas, it was to none but me  
And all I've done for want of wit  
To memory now I can't recall  
So fill to me the parting glass  
Good night and joy be with you all

Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had  
Are sorry for my going away  
And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had  
Would wish me one more day to stay  
But since it falls unto my lot  
That I should rise and you should not  
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call  
Good night and joy be with you all  
Good night and joy be with you all"


	21. BSWW IOS

**Wassup guys it's ya boy S to the L to the… S to the I to the S. Wait a sec… It's ya boy, so what's good my loyal fans? Alright? Aight aight aight. So, we here today to commemorate BSWW. Just kiddin. I'm here to tell all y'all that the very first chapter of Jon's son Jon, and his story is up on Fanfiction. "Intention of Stone is the most mouth-watering devourable piece of our time," The New Fork Times. "IOS brings the very best out of it's author, all for his well-loved fans," Some Hippie. So, go check that shit out, a new chapter is coming soon.**


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